. 


VJ     • 

r.^B 


BANCROFT 
LIBRARY 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


f  *  ^BB^iI_  ^w.^^^^"^^fc 


LETTERS 


FROM    THE    SOUTH-WEST 


BY 


RUDOLF    EICKEME  YER     I  ?  G  2 


ILLUSTRATED    BY    E.    W.    DEMING 


1894 


COPYRIGHT,  1894,  BY 
R.    EICKEMEYER. 


[All  rights  reserved.} 


Press  of  J.  J.  Little  &  Co. 
Astor  Place,  New  York 


(o  2.0 

BANCROFT 
LIMAKY 


THE  letters  have  to  speak  for  themselves,  but  I  have  something  to  say  about  the 
illustrations.  I  can  pronounce  all  true  to  life  except  two,  the  frontispiece  and 
another,  representing  my  partner  on  horseback.  I  did  not  see  myself  when  mounted, 
and  tun  therefore  unable  to  judge  whether  the  artist  succeeded  in  making  a  true 
likeness.  The  picture  of  the  horse  is  a  faithful  one,  but  I  have  some  doubts  as  to 
the  speed  at  which  he  seems  to  move.  If  the  artist  intended  to  illustrate  my  feelings, 
I  think  he  is  very  nearly  right,  for  I  felt  as  if  the  horse  was  galloping  when  my 
companion  said  he  walked.  Of  the  other  picture,  I  can  only  say  that  I  was  not  pres- 
ent on  the  occasion  depicted.  I  must  have  been  at  the  hotel  writing  letters  when 

the  artist  sketched  the  figure  from  life. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


LETTERS  FROM  THE  SOUTHWEST. 


i. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  February  12,  1893. 
MY  DEAR  MK.  GORTON  : 

AFTER  a  long  and  cold  trip  through  the  "  Sunny  South  "  (snow  eight 
inches  in  Atlanta,  Ga.,  and  more  or  less  all  the  way  to  New  Orleans),  I 
landed  in  this  place,  by  way  of  San  Antonio,  Texas,  nearly  two  weeks  ago. 

I  had  left  home  with  my  son  Carl  during  a  heavy  snow-storm,  and  this 
storm  followed,  or,  rather,  advanced,  before  us  all  the  way  to  and  beyond 
Mobile. 


6  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  the  heating  pipes  in  our  sleeper  burst  before  we 
left  Jersey  City,  and  we  made  the  trip  to  New  Orleans  in  a  refrigerator  car 
instead  of  the  comfortably  warmed  "  Pullman  "  for  which  we  had  paid. 

The  trip  through  Virginia,  North  and  South  Carolina,  Georgia,  and 
Alabama  was  anything  but  interesting.  The  country  was  covered  with 
SDOW,  and  might  as  well  have  been  in  the  northern  part  of  New  York,  near 
the  lakes,  as  in  the  South. 

When  we  approached  Montgomery  the  train  passed  through  cedar 
swamps  for  hours,  and  for  the  first  time  we  saw  trees  draped  with  Florida 
moss.  At  Westport  we  made  our  first  acquaintance  with  the  turkey  buz- 
zard, and  it  looked  as  if  these  birds  knew  that  things  were  not  as  they 
should  be.  They  would  take  a  lazy  flight  upward,  and  a  short  view  of  the 
surroundings,  which  seemed  to  be  unsatisfactory,  and  then  perch  on  the 
fences  and  out-houses  near  the  station. 

We  arrived  at  New  Orleans  twenty  hours  behind  time  and  thoroughly 
disgusted  with  our  experience.  Our  search  after  sunshine,  so  far,  had  not 
been  a  success. 

New  Orleans,  with  its  long  line  of  wharves  loaded  with  cotton  bales, 
sugar  hogsheads,  and  other  merchandise,  piled  tier  upon  tier,  looked  like 
an  industrious  place.  But  the  French  market,  with  the  French  and  Span- 
ish Creoles  and  the  negroes  of  all  shades,  made  a  strange  picture  for  an 
American  city. 

Our  stay  there  extended  over  a  week,  and  what  amused  me  more  than 
anything  else  was  that  every  one  we  met  insisted  that  we  must  see  the 
burying-grounds.  Well,  they  were  interesting  enough  ;  all  the  burials  are 
above  ground  in  sepulchral  structures  highly  ornate.  But  to  send  a  visitor, 
who  has  left  home  to  restore  his  health,  all  over  the  city  to  see  how  New 
Orleans  takes  care  of  its  dead,  did  not  strike  me  as  a  very  judicious  move. 

Our  trip  to  San  Antonio  took  us  over  a  plain  that  was  well  cultivated 
in  parts,  and  contained  here  and  there  a  thriving  village  ;  but  the  vegetation 
constantly  reminded  us  that  we  were  going  south.  Along  the  fences  were 
large  cacti,  and  occasionally  a  Spanish  "bayonet."  We  passed  by  large 
grain  fields  and  cotton  plantations,  and  in  one  of  the  latter  saw  a  gang  of 
convicts  in  striped  suits  hard  at  work,  while  mounted  men,  armed  to  the 
teeth,  guarded  them. 

At  some  station  along  the  route  a  gentleman  left  our  car  and  forgot  to 
take  his  satchel.  The  trainman  who  found  it  opened  it  to  see  if  he  could  find 
a  clew  to  the  owner,  and  what  do  you  think  it  contained  ?  A  shirt,  a 
paper  collar,  and  a  six-shooter.  Another  proof  that  we  were  going  south. 

In  San  Antonio  we  saw  the  Alamo,  where  Davy  Crockett  and  his  compa- 
triots held  a  whole  Mexican  army  at  bay  ;  San  Pedro  Springs,  in  the  Park, 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  7 

and  the  springs  which  are  the  fountain-head  of  the  San  Antonio  River  ; 
some  old  churches,  and  a  post  where  the  United  States  have  a  garrison  of 
fifteen  hundred  soldiers. 

We  left  San  Antonio  for  El  Paso  after  a  week's  visit,  and  I  must  relate 
what  induced  us  to  come  here.  The  fog  and  smoke  that  characterized 
New  Orleans  was  only  a  little  less  dense  in  San  Antonio,  and  as  it  did  not 
agree  with  me,  we  partly  concluded  to  go  to  Southern  California.  Then 
some  of  our  friends  suggested  El  Pas... 

But  El  Paso  was  an  unknown  region,  and  our  inquiries  elicited  no  reli- 
able information  ;  so  I  requested  Carl  to  go  to  some  public  library  and  look 
the  place  up  in  an  encyclopaedia.  When  he  came  back  to  the  hotel  he 
reported  that  El  Paso  was  a  town  on  the  border  of  Mexico,  having  forty-five 
hundred  inhabitants,  half  of  whom  were  barbarous  nati\ 

On  the  strength  of  this  description  we  bought  our  tickets,  and  after  a 
ride  of  twenty-four  hours  through  a  real  desert,  our  train  following  the  pict- 
uresque caflon  of  the  Rio  Grande  a  good  part  of  the  way,  we  landed  here, 
as  stated  above,  nearly  two  weeks  ago.  And  I  was  surprised  when  I  found, 
instead  of  the  town  described  in  the  encyclopaedia,  a  well-regulated  Ameri- 
can city,  with  churches  and  schools,  and  the  schoolmaster  on  top. 

El  Paso  is  located  in  what  looks  to  a  stranger  like  a  desert ;  and  so  it  is 
unless  water  is  obtainable  for  irrigation,  and  that  seems  to  be  the  question 
of  greatest  importance  to  the  city. 

There  is  a  high-school  here  with  eighty-five  pupils,  and  in  this,  as  in  the 
other  schools,  the  rooms  seem  to  be  as  well  equipped  as  ours. 

I  have  not  had  the  ambition  yet  to  visit  all  of  the  schools,  but  without 
doubt  will  do  so  before  I  get  away.  Besides  the  high-school  there  are  three 
others  (including  one  for  Mexican  and  another  for  negro  children),  all 
under  one  superintendent  and  all  in  good  buildings.  Please  get  me  excused 
for  another  month  from  the  meetings  of  the  Board  of  Education,  as  I  intend 
to  gather  a  whole  lot  of  information  on  school-keeping  while  on  my  travels. 
I  think  this  should  be  considered  as  an  equivalent  for  regular  attendance  at 
the  meetings  of  the  Board. 

The  climate  here  is  excessively  dry,  not  more  than  six  inches  of  rain-fall 
per  annum  ;  but  for  the  last  two  years  no  rain  has  fallen  in  this  section. 


II. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  March  1,  1893. 

I  RECEIVED  your  letter  yesterday,  and  was  struck  by  the  closing  remarks 
about  water  and  its  uses,  and  especially  by  the  suggestion  that,  where  water 


8  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

is  so  precious,  it  would  be  unfair  for  a  visitor  to  diminish  the  supply  by 
drinking  it.  When  I  left  home  I  had  a  sort  of  a  notion  that  I  might  land 
somewhere  where  tbe  water  was  scarce  or  bad,  and  so  I  ordered  a  supply  of 
cigars  and  "  Blue  Grass  "  to  be  sent  forward. 

I  have  found  since  that  it  was  the  best  thing  I  ever  did.  You  see, 
great  minds  run  in  the  same  groove  ;  by  intuition  I  had  done  what  you  sug- 
gested after  you  heard  of  the  scant  rainfall  in  the  section  I  now  inhabit. 

It  may  interest  you  to  hear  something  about  this  part  of  "  Uncle  Sam's 
farm."  El  Paso  is,  as  you  know,  in  the  State  of  Texas,  and  a  mile  or  so 
from  the  Eio  Grande.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  is  the  Mexican 
town  of  El  Paso  del  Norte,  or,  as  it  is  now  called,  Juarez.  It  is  necessary 
to  keep  this  in  mind  to  understand  the  condition  of  things  on  this  side.  To 
give  you  an  idea  how  El  Paso  appears  to  a  stranger,  I  must  describe  it  as  I 
gradually  saw  it. 

I  am  lodged  at  the  Vendome,  an  American  hotel,  and  the  best  in  town. 
We  landed  here  at  about  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning,  just  four  weeks  ago 
to-day,  and  I  had  my  first  view  of  the  place — bathed  in  sunshine  under  a 
cloudless  sky — when  I  looked  out  of  the  window  of  my  room.  I  had  found 
sunshine  at  last.  Right  in  front  of  the  hotel  is  the  Plaza,  a  sort  of  park 
covering  four  squares.  This  Plaza  is  daily  filled  with  people,  mostly  from 
the  North,  who  come  here  to  mend  their  lungs.  "Lungers,"  they  call  them 
here  for  short.  You  remember  you  once  found  me  counting  up  the  ages 
of  my  ancestors,  to  find  out  how  near  to  the  average  I  had  arrived.  Well, 
a  walk  on  the  Plaza  on  a  sunny  day — and  six  out  of  seven  are  sunny — is 
about  as  cheerful  an  occupation  as  that  you  found  me  at. 

But  to  return  to  the  original  subject,  namely,  the  description  of  the 
town.  I  must  say  that  it  looked  on  that  morning  as  pleasant  as  any  place 
I  had  seen.  The  Plaza  has  a  fountain  in  the  centre,  and  a  sign  on  one  side 
says  :  "  Don't  disturb  the  alligators."  I  have  circled  around  the  basin 
almost  daily,  but  have  not  had  the  pleasure  yet  of  seeing  their  open 
countenances  ;  so  that  sign  may  be  a  deception  and  a  fraud.  On  the  left, 
and  about  the  middle  of  the  square,  "  Uncle  Sam  "  has  put  his  Federal 
building,  containing  the  post-office,  custom-house,  and  courts,  and  the  flag 
is  flying  all  day  ;  so  you  feel  at  home,  anyhow,  no  matter  how  strange  the 
surroundings  may  seem. 

The  next  building  is  a  large  business  block,  built  of  brick  ;  and  in  the 
top  story  "Uncle  Sam's"  weather  clerk  has  his  roost.  The  wind-gauge 
and  weather-vane  crown  the  roof  of  this  building,  and,  as  I  have  a  full  view 
of  them  from  my  room,  I  have  become  an  expert  on  the  wind.  By  simply 
looking  from  my  window  I  can  tell  where  it  comes  from,  and  by  the  speed 
of  the  whirligig  I  can  tell  how  fast  it  blows.  There  is  also  a  registering 


LETTERS    FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  9 

thermometer  on  top,  and  regularly,  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening,  an  attend- 
ant climbs  a  ladder  to  take  the  reading,  and  this  reading  is  telegraphed  to 
Washington  to  serve  as  part  of  the  data  for  predicting  the  weather.  Of 
course  I  had  to  climh  up  and  investigate  the  method  of  observation,  and 
while  there  I  had  a  pleasant  chat  with  the  attendant.  So.  \vlu>n  for  a  num- 
ber of  days  we  had  bad  weather,  I  took  the  liberty  of  requesting  that,  as  he 
had  so  little  to  do,  he  would  furnish  us  a  better  article ;  and  he  did. 

It  seems  that  El  Paso  is  out  of  the  range  of  the  storms,  which  form 
either  in  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  or  in  the  Rocky  Mountains.  It  is  a  sort  of 
island,  having  a  climate  of  its  uwn.  and,  consequently,  the  observations 
taken  here  bear  very  little  relation  to  the  storms  at  the  North.  Still,  the 
temperature  depends  in  a  measure,  though  not  invariably,  upon  the  quan- 
tity of  snow  on  the  plains.  The  other  day  the  temperature  here  was  ten 
degrees  lower  than  at  one  hundred  miles  north  or  east  of  us,  showing  the 
climatic  isolation  of  El  Paso. 

N"\v,  to  continue  the  description  of  the  buildings  around  the  Plaza,  we 
have  next  to  the  post-office  an  adobe  house.  These  mloln-x  have  few  win- 
dows but  many  doors,  and  when  I  first  saw  one  in  San  Antonio  1  could  not 
help  thinking  of  some  fort  with  a  lot  of  cannon  mounted  on  the  ramparts. 
The  houses  are  one  story  high.  The  walls  extend  two  or  three  feet  above 
the  flat  roofs.  Every  eight  or  ten  feet  around  the  building  wooden  leaders 
project  a  distance  of  from  four  to  six  feet.  They  cany  the  water,  when  it 
rains  away  from  the  foundation,  and  look  from  a  distance  like  guns  for 
the  defence  of  a  castle. 

When  I  suggested  to  the  weather-clerk  that  it  seemed  a  useless  precau- 
tion to  put  these  leaders  on  the  houses,  he  told  me  that  at  times  (not  very 
often  indeed)  rain  fell  at  the  rate  of  two  inches  an  hour,  and  without  this 
way  of  carrying  off  the  water  these  houses  would  be  washed  away.  Facing 
the  hotel,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  plaza,  are  the  ruins  of  a  hotel  which 
was  burned  some  time  ago,  and  adjoining  these  is  a  livery  stable  one  story 
high,  built  of  sun-dried  clay  bricks,  filling  the  space  to  the  next  corner. 
The  railroad  runs  along  the  fourth  side  of  the  plaza,  thus  completing  the 
square. 

Behind  the  buildings  on  the  south  side  of  the  Rio  Grande  you  see  moun- 
tains, and  at  the  west  another  range.  Facing  you  is  what  they  call  the 
Mesa.  1  believe  this  is  the  Spanish  for  table,  and  should  mean  tableland. 
This  is  a  deception  ;  it  is  composed  of  a  succession  of  hills  and  gullies, 
which  look  as  if  the  rains  of  heaven  had  washed  them  out  yesterday,  but 
not  a  drop  of  water  is  in  them.  I  am  told  that  the  sluggish  stream  is 
called  the  Rio  Grande  because  at  times  its  bed,  which  is  one-eighth  of  a 
mile  wide,  is  covered  with  water. 


10  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

I  don't  know  whether  you  have  ever  seen  a  "  sage-brush  "  desert.  Imag- 
ine a  number  of  hills  of  pure,  unadulterated  loose  sand,  here  and  there  a 
green  bush  or  a  cactus  plant.  Then  imagine  the  same  conditions  as  far  as 
the  eye  can  reach,  with  mountains  from  one  thousand  to  fifteen  hundred 
feet  above  the  plain  on  either  hand,  enclosing  an  area  about  thirty-five 
miles  long  by  eight  or  ten  wide,  stretching  from  El  Paso  toward  the  east, 
and  you  may  get  a  sort  of  a  notion  of  a  desolation  in  which  it  would  appear 
that  no  living  being  could  exist ;  yet  even  here  man  does  get  a  living  in 
some  way,  such  as  it  is. 

El  Paso  is  part  Mexican  and  part  American.  The  Mexicans  and  a  great 
many  of  the  Chinamen  live  in  adobe  houses ;  but  there  are  a  number  of  fine 
residences,  built  of  brick,  which  contain  all  the  modern  improvements. 

I  have  just  reached  the  point  where  I  might  branch  out  and  talk  about 
the  churches,  schools,  public  halls,  banks,  and  gambling  houses,  when  I 
find  I  must  stop  for  the  day.  There  is  going  to  be  a  drawing  of  the  lottery 
in  Juarez  under  the  superintendence  of  the  ex-Confederate  Colonel  Mosby, 
the  one  who  had  his  field  of  action  in  the  Shenandoah  Valley  during  the 
late  unpleasantness.  He  receives,  I  am  told,  eight  thousand  dollars  a  year 
for  the  use  of  his  name  and  his  personal  attendance  at  the  drawings.  It 
would  be  too  bad  to  miss  that,  so  good-by,  and  the  story  is  to  be  continued 
in  our  next. 

III. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  March  4,  1893. 

WHEN  I  closed  my  last  it  was  my  intention  to  go  to  Juarez  and  see  Colonel 
Mosby  and  the  drawing  of  the  lottery,  but  just  as  I  had  finished  my  letter 
to  you  and  was  ready  to  start,  the  Eastern  mail  came  in,  and  I  had  to  go 
right  at  it  to  answer  my  letters  and  get  them  away  on  that  day.  One  of  the 
advantages  of  this  place  is  a  regular  mail  service.  There  is  a  daily  train 
each  way,  north,  east,  south,  and  west ;  and  so  your  letters  go,  or  don't  go, 
if  you  happen  to  mail  them  at  the  right  or  wrong  time. 

This  city  has  between  ten  and  eleven  thousand  inhabitants,  not  counting 
the  visitors ;  and  to  supply  these  people  with  drinks  and  an  opportunity  to 
get  rid  of  any  surplus  cash,  there  are  about  twenty  saloons,  and  to  almost 
every  saloon  is  attached  a  regular  outfit  for  roulette,  faro,  sweat,  crap,  and 
keno.  I  put  down  these  games  by  the  names  I  have  been  told  they  go  by. 
If  I  stay  here  some  time  longer  I  may  be  initiated  into  all  the  secrets  of 
gambling,  provided  that  the  money  holds  out. 

But  I  may  as  well  tell  this  part  of  my  story  in  the  regular  way.  When  it 
proved  to  be  too  late  to  go  to  Juarez,  we  organized  a  sort  of  an  investigating 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  11 

party,  or,  rather,  a  committee  on  disc-ox  cry  ;  and  a  little  after  two  o'clock 
P.M.  started  out  to  see  the  town.  There  were  six  of  us — a  gentleman 
from  Kentucky,  another  from  Delaware,  two  young  men  from  New  Jersey, 
and  my  son.  We  had  become  acquainted  during  our  stay  here,  and  con- 
cluded that  it  might  be  as  well  to  go  in  force.  Now,  when  I  speak  of  saloons, 
don't  imagine  that  they  are  the  ordinary  kind  of  places  where  a  man  takes 
a  drink.  Oh,  no  !  They  are  carved  and  gilded,  and  everything  is  in  first- 
class  style,  and  their  names  are  simply  grand.  El  Paso  Street  is  the  leading 
business  street,  and  as  the  saloons  constitute  the  principal  business  the  more 
stylish  establishments  are  upon  it.  Come  to  think  of  it,  they  are  as  thick  as 
the  saloons  on  Main  Street  from  the  station  to  Getty  Square,  and  as  to  the 
names;,  there  is  the  "  Draw  ing-  Room,"  the  "  White  House,''  the  "Jewel," 
the  *•  Tepee,"  the  "  Sachem,"  and  so  on. 

\\e  started  on  our  expedition  at  the  upper  end  of  the  street,  which  com- 
mences at  the  Plaza  and  extends,  a  straight,  wick-  avenue,  to  Juarez.  On  it 
is  the  street-car  line,  each  car  being  propelled  by  a  mule  as  large  as  a  good- 
>i/ed  goat,  and  the  engineer,  a  .Mexican,  plies  the  whip  incessantly. 

To  return,  however,  to  our  inspection.  We  had  learned  that  the 
"Jewel"  was  the  most  stylish  of  the  gambling-houses,  and  so  we  dropped 
in  there  first.  The  "bar"  is  about  forty  feet  in  length,  and  gotten  up 
"  regardless,"  as  the  boys  say.  This  "  bar, "ornamented  and  embellished 
with  statuary — lacking  the  conventional  fig-leaf — is  on  the  left  ;  and  at  the 
end  is  a  black-walnut  partition  carved  in  the  highest  style  of  art.  We 
passed  through  the  door,  and  entered  a  room  filled  with  a  promiscuous 
crowd.  There  were  Chinamen.  Mexicans  (real  "Greasers"),  negroes  of  all 
shades  and  colors,  a  few  cow-boys,  and  some  business  men. 

On  the  left  a  roulette  game  was  in  full  play,  and  a  solitary  player  was 
"  bucking  the  tiger."  He  seemed  to  be  in  luck,  and  to  be  winning  ;  but 
as  I  did  not  understand  the  game,  1  could  not  follow  his  moves.  Opposite 
the  roulette  another  game  was  a-going  which,  I  was  told,  was  called  crap — 
as  mysterious  as  the  other.  This  game  was  played  with  two  dice.  Adjoin- 
ing this  was  a  regular  faro-table,  and  another,  opposite  to  it,  completed  the 
outfit. 

Now  about  the  players.  At  one  of  the  faro-tables  I  counted  five  China- 
men, two  mulattoes,  and  one  cow-boy  ;  at  the  other  the  cow-boys  seemed 
to  be  in  the  majority,  and  some  rough-looking  "  Greasers"  completed  the 
set.  The  faces  of  the  players  were  a  study.  Some  looked  as  if  they  did 
not  care  a  fig  how  the  game  turned,  while  the  faces  of  others  expressed  an 
excitement  you  seldom  see.  Of  course,  I  did  not  stay  long.  It  takes  time 
to  get  used  to  such  things,  and  I  hope  to  be  able  to  devote  some  to  see  it 
out.  1  am  told  that  every  saloon  is  equipped  substantially  in  the  same 


12  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

style  ;  some  even  more  elaborately,  as  far  as  gaming  is  concerned,  than  the 
"Jewel."  This  is  all  carried  on  in  broad  daylight,  and,  of  course,  all 
night.  I  first  thought  that  these  places  were  licensed.  I  have  learned 
since  that  there  is  no  such  a  thing  ;  but  the  city  of  El  Paso  derives  quite  an 
income  from  these  "dives/'  nevertheless.  At  the  end  of  each  month  a 
collector  goes  around  and  fines  (note  this  particularly)  each  keeper  of  a 
gambling-house  (I  think,  fifty  dollars),  and  if  he  cannot  pay  the  fine  the 
majesty  of  the  law  steps  in  and  closes  his  place.  This  seems  to  me  to  be 
the  finest  illustration  of  the  old  saw,  namely,  "  To  beat  the  devil  around 
the  bush."  I  intended  to  continue  a  full  description  of  our  exploration 
that  afternoon,  but  I  find  I  have  about  used  up  my  mental  energy,  and 
will  have  to  stop  and  continue  the  description  in  my  next. 

I  wish  you  would  keep  these  letters  for  me.  As  I  write,  the  subject 
grows  on  me,  and  if  I  stick  to  it  I  will  have  a  story  of  El  Paso  second  only 
to  the  "  Mysteries  of  Paris,"  by  Eugene  Sue. 


IV. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  March  4,  1893. 

I  GOT  off  one  letter  to  you  this  morning  and  did  not  intend  to  write 
another ;  but  even  El  Paso  has  a  climate.  Now  the  sun  shines  as  brightly  as 
it  does  on  a  clear  day  at  home ;  but  the  wind  blows  at  the  rate,  I  should 
say,  of  twenty-five  miles  an  hour,  and  the  sandy  plain  and  the  hills  furnish 
sand  enough  to  make  the  atmosphere  look  hazy.  Consequently  I  have  to 
stay  indoors.  I  will  therefore  proceed  from  where  I  left  off. 

Continuing  our  walk  down  El  Paso  Street,  which  contains  a  good  num- 
ber of  brick  blocks,  interspersed  here  and  there  with  one-story  adobe  houses, 
we  reached  what  is  called  "  Dobe-town."  But  again  I  have  to  stop  in  tell- 
ing my  tale  of  our  exploration.  As  we  arrived  at  the  end  of  the  business 
part,  we  had  on  our  right  the  ruins  of  an  adobe  house  ;  and  thereby  hangs 
a  tale. 

The  city  of  El  Paso  has  a  great  many  Chinamen  included  in  its  inhabi- 
tants, and  among  these  was  an  old  crippled  Chinaman,  who  was,  as  his  coun- 
trymen said,  "no  good/'  The  first  or  second  week  of  my  residence  here  I 
concluded  to  see  some  of  the  city  authorities,  and  so  my  son  Carl  and  I 
took  a  walk  to  the  city  hall.  We  found  there  a  great  crowd  passing  in 
and  out  of  an  engine-room  of  the  Fire  Department,  and,  on  inquiring, 
ascertained  that  a  roasted  Chinaman  was  oh  exhibition.  You  may  imagine 
how  quickly  I  got  out.  The  Chinamen  who  had  to  support  the  old  fellow 
got  tired  of  it ;  and  when,  about  midnight,  one  of  the  city  policemen  (who 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  13 

was  coming  out  of  a  saloon  opposite  the  ruined  hut)  discovered  the  fire, 
he  rushed  over  and  kicked  in  the  door  and  tried  to  pull  the  old  man  out. 
He  could  not  do  it,  because  the  poor  fellow  was  fastened  down  somehow, 
and  the  whole  place  was  saturated  with  kerosene,  so  he  had  to  let  him  burn 
up.  This  is,  at  any  rate,  the  testimony  produced  before  the  coroner  ;  and 
there  the  matter  ended.  The  Chinaman  was  buried  at  the  city's  expense, 
and  that  is  the  whole  story. 

While  I  am  at  it,  I  may  as  well  relate  another  incident  characteristic  of 
this  place. 

All  the  respectable  citi/ens  are,  on  occasions,  armed  with  revolvers,  and 
at  times,  when  arguments  get  strong,  they  use  them,  although  fisticuffs 
seem,  to  an  extent,  to  take  their  place  in  the  higher  grades  of  society. 

The  other  dav  a  dispute  arose  between  one  of  the  best  police  officers  of 
the  city  and  an  ex-sheriff.  The  lie  was  passed,  and  the  sheriff  let  fly  at  the 
policeman  with  his  fists.  The  latter  evidently  felt  overmatched  at  that 
game,  and,  pulling  his  revolver,  hammered  away  at  the  ex-sheriff's  head 
until  mutual  friends  (newspaper  report)  separated  them.  The  sheriff's  head 
was  cut  in  half  a  dozen  places,  and  he  was  taken  to  a  drug  store,  where 
the  cuts  were  sewed  up  and  pronounced  not  dangerous.  The  policeman 
had  to  resign,  and  much  regret  was  expressed  that  he  had  allowed  his  ha>ty 
temper  to  get  the  better  of  him.  He  was  evidently  looked  upon  as  a 
highly  cHicicnt  servant  in  the  line  of  law  and  order. 

Then,  again,  two  gentlemen  had  a  rather  hot  argument  on  some  legal 
question,  and  to  clear  up  the  matter  they  came  to  blows.  An  unfortunate 
reporter  of  one  of  the  dailies  here  got  wind  of  it,  and  somehow  must  have 
reported  the  wrong  man  victor.  Be  that  as  it  may,  the  wronged  gentle- 
man and  the  reporter  met  accidentally  in  the  street,  and  a  free  fight  was 
the  result,  until  some  mutual  friends  separated  them.  (You  see  the 
mutual  friend  cuts  a  great  figure  here.)  Both  rushed  for  a  store  to  buy 
good  stiff  canes  to  go  at  each  other  again,  but  the  mutual  friend  stepped 
in  once  more,  and  explanations  and  mutual  apologies  prevented  any  further 
contest.  The  papers  said  the  next  day  that  the  combatants  were  going  to 
keep  the  sticks  as  mementos  of  this  chivalrous  dispute. 

But  now  I  must  give  you  a  sketch  of  something  that  happened  three 
weeks  ago.  About  twenty  miles  from  here  some  parties  met.  Two  of  them 
had  a  herd  of  cattle,  about  twenty  in  number  ;  the  other  party,  numbering 
three,  contended  that  most  of  the  cattle  were  stolen.  Of  course  such  an 
offence  can  only  be  washed  out  in  blood,  so  both  sides  drew  their  revolvers 
and  began  to  shoot.  The  two  thieves  were  killed  then  and  there.  One  had 
no  less  than  six  bullets  in  his  chest;  and  the  other,  two  in  his  head.  The 
three  men  surrendered  at  once  to  the  sheriff  here  in  El  Paso,  and  were 


14  LETTERS   FROM  THE   SOUTHWEST. 

released  on  five  thousand  dollars  bail,  and  all  three  are  about  the  city  as 
unconcerned  as  anybody.  It  takes  but  a  walk  of  about  five  hundred  yards 
from  the  hotel  to  make  their  acquaintance. 


V. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  March  8,  1893. 

I  REGEET  that  I  have  not  told  my  story  in  regular  order,  but  1  could  not 
help  it.  When  I  saw  the  Chinaman's  hut  it  started  a  new  train  of  thought, 
and  I  had  to  run  that  down  before  I  could  go  ahead.  Now,  to  finish  the 
description  of  that  exploring  expedition.  I  mentioned  that  we  reached 
Dobe-town.  Imagine  eight  or  ten  squares  covered  with  mud  houses,  with 
sefioras,  some  as  dark  as  the  darkest  Indian  you  ever  saw,  performing  their 
cooking  and  washing  (such  as  it  is)  out  of  doors ;  dozens  of  young  ones, 
half  clad,  and  some  almost  not  clad  at  all,  running  about  playing,  and  you 
have  a  picture  of  this  end  of  the  town. 

We  followed  the  sandy  avenue  to  the  smelter,  which  has  been  shut  down 
since  the  McKinley  bill  put  a  duty  on  silver  ores  from  Mexico  ;  passed  by 
the  square  where  the  court-house  stands,  surrounded  by  a  grass-plot  with 
large  cottonwoods  here  and  there,  and  reached  our  hotel  just  in  time  for 
dinner. 

Well,  I  am  glad  I  have  finished  that  trip,  because  I  can  go  systematically 
at  it  to  give  you  the  sunny  side  of  life  in  this  place.  To  start,  I  will  take 
you  up  on  the  Mesa  or  tableland,  and  show  you  a  view  that  is  as  beautiful 
as  any  you  may  have  seen.  At  the  foot  of  the  Mesa  is  El  Paso.  Close  to 
the  bluff  are  a  dozen  or  more  squares  covered  with  trim  brick  dwelling- 
houses,  each  with  its  little  garden  and  its  cactus  plants.  A  little  farther 
east  is  the  Plaza,  enclosed  on  nearly  three  sides  by  solid  buildings  three  or 
four  stories  high.  El  Paso  Street,  with  its  brick  buildings,  extends  from 
the  centre,  south,  over  to  Juarez,  Mexico.  And  the  American  town,  with  its 
ten  churches,  four  good  school  buildings,  its  county  court-house — of  which 
any  city  might  be  proud — and  its  city  hall,  clusters  about  the  plain,  cover- 
ing an  area  of  probably  four  square  miles. 

The  streets  are  as  level  as  a  table  and  as  straight  as  arrows.  The  side- 
walks, of  asphalt,  are  kept  in  good  order,  and  as  it  does  not  rain  very  often 
it  is  easy  to  keep  them.  Outside  of  this  part  of  the  city  (in  which  is  the 
centre  of  travel,  the  railroads  passing  right  through  it)  is  the  Mexican 
town.  Scattered  among  the  brick  buildings  of  El  Paso  are  numbers  of 
adobe  houses.  Most  of  these  are  plastered  over  and  have  a  clean  and  nice 
appearance.  Surrounding  the  American  city  are  hundreds — yes,  I  should 


LETTERS   FKOM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


15 


say  thousands — of  adobe  houses  with  just  one,  or  at  the  outside  two, 
rooms,  all  of  them  one  story  high,  inhabited  by  Mexicans,  negroes,  and 
Chinamen. 

The  Rio  Grande  makes  a  great  bend  which,  in  a  nu-asure,  puts  El  Paso 
on  a  peninsula.  At  present  the  water  is  so  low  that  but  little  can  be  seen 
of  the  stream  except  its  bed  of  white  sand.  A  level  plain  stretches  for 


r 


miles  to  the  east  and  ex- 
tends to  the  other  side  of 
the  river,  where  El  Paso- 
del  Norte  lies  before  you  as 
in  a  bird's-eye  view.  Its 
church,  which  is  supposed 
to  be  three  hundred  years 
old,  attracts  your  attention 
first;  then  the  custom- 
house and  post-office  and 

the  presidio,  where  the  Mexican  garrison  guard  their  side  of  the  border. 
A  number  of  brick  stores  and  a  few  brick  dwelling-houses  also  appear 
above  the  adobe  houses  in  which  the  Mexicans  live ;  and  as  there  are  ten 
thousand  inhabitants  in  the  town  you  may  imagine  how  much  ground 
they  cover. 

All  this  country  that  you  see  is  surrounded  by  hills,  or  mountains,  from 


16  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

five  hundred  to  fifteen  hundred  feet  in  height ;  they  seem  to  form  an 
irregular  wall  enclosing  the  wide  plain.  I  spend  a  good  deal  of  time  up  at 
the  Mesa,  and  the  oftener  I  go  there  the  more  impressive  is  the  sight.  El 
Paso — that  is,  the  American  town — is  bnt  a  few  years  old.  The  first  rail- 
road entered  it  in  1879,  I  think,  and  all  it  is  to-day  has  been  created  in 
these  few  .years. 

I  wish  I  was  able  to  do  justice  to  the  view  ;  but  as  all  my  descriptive 
powers  have  been  wasted  on  machinery  of  one  kind  or  another,  while  I 
have  not  lost  my  ability  to  see  and  appreciate,  my  power  of  expressing  my 
thoughts  is  but  limited.  So  you  must  take  the  will  for  the  deed  and  let 
your  imagination  fill  in  where  my  pen  has  left  a  blank. 

I  guess  I  will  close  right  here,  and  when  I  feel  like  it  again  will  give 
you  some  more. 

There  is  a  lot  of  material — cock-fights,  bull-fights,  etc. 


VI. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  March  12,  1893. 

IN  my  last  letter  I  tried  to  give  a  bird's-eye  view  of  El  Paso,  and  when  I 
got  through  I  felt  that  I  was  now  ready  to  start  in  and  tell  you  all  about 
the  good  people.  But  I  find  myself  on  the  wrong  side  yet.  Every  Sunday 
they  have  cock-fights  in  Juarez,  and  it  would  never  do  to  go  away  from  here 
and  not  see  one.  It  would  really  be  as  bad,  as  the  Germans  say,  "to  go 
to  Rome  and  not  see  the  Pope."  So  last  Sunday  we  started  for  Juarez 
to  see  the  cock-fight,  and  I  hope  that  next  Sunday  I  will  be  able  to  see 
the  bull-fight.  But,  to  go  at  the  subject,  I  have  first  to  give  you  some 
geographical  information. 

As  I  said  before,  Juarez  is  on  the  other  side  of  the  Rio  Grande,  and  is 
connected  with  El  Paso  by  street-cars  which  pass  over  the  river  on  two 
bridges.  Going  in  one  direction,  they  pass  over  the  lower,  returning, 
after  a  long  detour  through  Juarez,  over  the  upper  bridge  back  to  El  Paso. 
As  soon  as  the  first  bridge  is  crossed  the  car  is  stopped,  and  a  Mexican 
custom-house  officer  passes  through  to  inspect  passengers  and  baggage. 
This  inspection  Carl  calls  "  Bluff  No.  41."  I  don't  know  why,  but  where 
"bluffs  are  trumps"  (gambling-house  slang),  I  suppose  he  has  run  up  to 
that  figure.  The  custom-house  officer  is  a  picturesque  figure.  With  his 
broad  sombrero  trimmed  with  gold  and  silver  braid,  his  short  jacket  and 
tight  pantaloons,  a  cartridge-belt  around  his  loins,  and  a  silver-plated 
revolver  in  his  belt,  he  looks  like  a  robber  in  a  Bowery  theatre  melodrama. 
(This  is  from  hearsay,  not  from  actual  observation.)  He  rings  the  bell  as  he 


LETTERS   FROM   THE  SOUTHWEST.  17 

steps  off  of  the  rear  platform,  and  away  we  go  at  full  mule-speed  into 
Juarez. 

It  being  Sunday,  everybody  is  in  full  dress.  And  right  here  I  want  to 
make  an  observation  on  something  that,  I  think,  is  characteristic  of  the 
country.  In  other  parts  of  the  world  the  bright  colors  are  worn  by  the 
better  half  of  mankind;  but  here  it  is  the  opposite.  All  the  sefloras  are 
dressed  in  sombre  black,  and  the  men  in  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow. 

As  we  passed  up  the  street,  I  noticed  a  Mexican  dandy  on  horseback 
whom  I  had  seen  in  El  Paso  at  the  hotel.  Having  acquired  by  long  years 
of  contact  some  Yankee  inquisitiveness,  I  learned  then  that  the  hat  (about 
two  feet  in  diameter,  more  or  less),  of  light  color  and  trimmed  with  gold 
and  silver  braid,  represented  something  like  eighty  dollars  in  value.  The 
jacket  and  pantaloons,  of  the  finest,  softest  leather  I  ever  saw,  and  profusely 
ornamented  with  black  braid,  were  worth  about  an  equal  amount  ;  and  the 
blanket  which  he  wore  gracefully  thrown  over  one  shoulder  was  of  a  striped 
pattern,  varying  from  the  deepest  blue  to  pure  white.  I  must  confess  I 
never  saw  a  dress  as  picturesque  as  this,  and  I  never  imagined  that  any 
man  nould  wear  such  a  dress  and  not  look  ridiculous  ;  and  yet  there  he  is, 
a  hid;ilgo,  every  inch  of  him. 

If  I  keep  on  at  this  rate  over  each  Mexican  we  meet,  I  fear  your  patience 
will  give  out,  because  I  suppose  you  want  to  hear  about  the  cock-fight  as 
much  as  1  want  to  see  it. 

Our  mule  turned  to  the  right,  and  we  travelled  along  a  street  parallel  to 
the  Rio  Grande  (but  about  three-quarters  of  a  mile  away),  and  passed  the 
American  part  of  the  town,  where  the  Herman  Jews  monopolize  all  the 
business  (the  same  as  in  middle  Broadway,  from  Canal  to  Twenty-third 
Street,  in  New  York).  The  custom-house  is  on  the  same  street,  and  when 
our  mule  turns  to  the  right  again  to  return  to  El  Paso,  we  will  get  out  and 
be  at  a  point  where  the  old  church  is  visible. 

Of  course  the  old  church  is  the  first  thing  to  visit.  It  is  built  of  sun- 
dried  brick,  and  is  at  least  three  hundred  years  old.  A  square  tower  at  the 
left  and  in  front  of  the  building  has  three  bells,  suspended  in  the  most 
primitive  manner,  with  ropes,  to  cross-beams.  As  we  enter  we  see  a  bare 
floor — no  pews  or  seats  of  any  kind.  The  high  altar  fills  an  arched  recess  in 
the  further  wall,  and  to  the  right  and  left  are  altars  of  smaller  dimensions. 
Along  the  walls  on  both  sides  are  pictures  of  the  saints,  mostly  cheap 
prints  ;  but  the  ceiling  of  the  church  is  the  most  attractive  portion.  It  is 
formed  of  native  timber,  carved  with  elaborate  designs.  The  dark  wood  of 
the  ceiling  and  the  dim  light  of  the  few  windows  seem  to  put  you  back  some 
centuries,  as  you  stay  in  the  half-light  on  entering  the  door.  Yet  this 
picture  of  the  church  does  not  comprehend  the  scene. 
2 


18  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

Right  in  front  of  the  church  is  a  plaza,  well  laid  out  and  planted  with 
palms  and  cactus  plants.  The  walks  are  lined  with  seats,  on  which  old  and 
young  sit  in  the  sun  ;  and  right  in  the  middle,  upon  a  stone  pedestal,  is  a 
bust  of  Juarez,  the  president  who  established  the  Republic  of  Mexico  on 
the  ruins  of  the  Empire  of  Maximilian. 

In  the  rear  of  the  church  is,  sad  to  relate,  the  lock-up ;  and  a  look 
through  the  gate  at  its  inhabitants,  who  seem  to  have  the  freedom  of  the 
yard,  destroys  all  the  romance  you  may  weave  about  this  old  part  of  El 
Paso  del  Norte.  A  Mexican  soldier  in  dark  blue  uniform,  himself  as  black 
as  the  ace  of  spades,  walks  to  and  fro  in  front  of  the  gate,  and  a  set  of 
ragged  urchins  keep  him  company. 

But  when  are  you  going  to  get  at  that  cock-fight  ?  I  hear  you  ask,  and  I 
have  only  to  say  that  we  will  come  to  it  all  in  good  time. 

But  right  here  is  another  interruption.  As  I  told  you  before,  directly 
in  front  of  my  window  is  the  Plaza,  and  to-day  (Sunday)  a  Mexican  band 
from  Ysleta,  who  wish  to  show  their  ability,  are  going  to  give  us  a  concert. 
The  hall-boy  has  just  informed  me  that  the  concert  will  begin  shortly,  and 
as  no  seats  are  reserved  I  will  have  to  close  and  try  to  get  a  good  one. 


VII. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  March  13,  1893. 

MY  "  Epistle  to  the  Corinthians"  was  closed  yesterday  by  the  hall-boy, 
and  I  start  in  to-day  on  a  subject  which  is  more  or  less  metaphysical.  If 
you  have  taken  the  trouble  to  decipher  my  communications  to  you,  I  have 
no  doubt  you  can  read  or  have  read  between  the  lines  a  longing  to  get  away 
from  the  bad  people  and  get  a  hack  at  the  good  ones.  It  has  been  a  puzzle 
to  me  ever  since  I  started  in,  why  I  cannot  get  away  from  that  end  of  the 
story.  Now  you  know,  and  if  you  don't  I  will  tell  you,  that  whenever  you 
want  to  investigate  any  subject,  you  want  a  good  working  theory  to  guide  you. 

I  have  for  the  last  ten  or  fifteen  years  had  a  hobby.  I  was  after  mag- 
nets in  all  forms,  and  their  application.  I  finally  reached  a  point  where  I 
got  the  whole  planetary  system  in  the  proper  shape.  The  sun  became  an 
enormous  dynamo  ;  the  planets  were  electric  motors,  and  the  whole  system 
worked  admirably  and  to  my  satisfaction. 

When  I  first  realized  that,  somehow  or  other,  I  could  not  get  away  from 
the  end  of  the  problem  I  had  in  hand,  I  looked  around  to  see  if  there  were 
not  some  good  and  sufficient  reason  for  the  attraction  which  the  shady  side 
of  life  down  here  had  for  me.  And  you  see,  as  soon  as  my  thoughts  had 
crystallized  so  that  I  knew  it  was  attraction,  the  scales  fell  from  my  eyes. 


LETTERS   FROM   THE  SOUTHWEST.  19 

Why,  it  was  as  plain  as  a  pikestaff.  Society  in  El  Paso,  and,  for  that 
matter,  everywhere  else,  is  just  like  a  big  magnet,  the  molecules  of  which 
group  themselves  regularly,  the  good  people  forming  one  pole,  say  the 
north,  and  the  bad  ones  the  south  pole;  and  between  the  two  poles  the 
rest  of  humanity  are  stratified  in  proper  layers. 

Now,  suppose  you  take  two  magnets  and  bring  poles  of  like  denomin- 
ation near  each  other,  they  repel;  while,  when  poles  of  unlike  denomina- 
tion are  brought  together,  they  are  attracted.  Now  here  you  have  at  once 
a  clear  and  forcible  explanation  of  all  my  troubles.  The  greasy  Mexican 
who  gathers  cigar  stumps  regularly  every  day  in  front  of  the  hotel  and  on 
the  Plaza,  or  a  gambling  Chinaman  at  the  faro-table — yes,  even  a  bunco 
steerer — seems  to  be  more  interesting  to  me  than  all  the  good  people  I  have 
so  far  met,  and  I  see  plainly  that  it  will  take  all  my  time  to  follow  out  this 
line.  And,  on  the  whole,  I  don't  know  but  it  is  as  good  a  line  as  any.  It 
reminds  me  of  a  German  saw,  which,  badly  translated,  reads  about  as  follows: 

"  The  good  in  us,  depend,  my  son, 
Is  but  the  bad  we  leave  undone  !  " 


VIII. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  March  16,  1893. 

WHEX  I  took  you  over  to  Juarez,  a  week  ago  last  Sunday,  I  held  out  as 
one  of  the  great  inducements  a  cock-fight  which  was  to  take  place.  I  got 
you  over  all  safe  on  the  International  horse-car  line,  propelled  by  mules, 
and,  if  I  remember  rightly,  left  you  in  front  of  the  lock-up.  Well,  I 
have  now  made  up  my  mind  that  you  shall  see  that  cock-fight  with  your 
mind's  eye — if  my  pen  holds  out  to  describe  it.  When  we  left  the  old 
Mexican  cathedral,  we  turned  to  the  right  and  found  in  the  rear  the  afore- 
mentioned lock-up  ;  and  as  we  passed  on  we  came  to  a  building  which,  in 
a  rough  way.  resembles  a  circus.  This  building  is  the  Plaza  del  Toros,  or, 
in  plain  English,  the  bull-ring.  Now,  if  I  was  not  in  a  hurry  to  get  to  the 
cock-fight,  I  might  take  the  time  to  describe  all  the  arrangements  provided 
for  this  great  national  game  of  all  the  Spaniards  and  their  descendants; 
but  I  will  leave  this  until  I  have  had  an  opportunity  to  judge  for  myself  of 
the  valor  of  the  matadors  who  ride  on  blindfolded  horses  and  kill  innocent 
bulls.  As  we  pass  on,  leaving  the  old  church  and  the  Plaza  on  our  left,  we 
finally  reach  a  one-story  adobe  building  where  the  cock-pit  is  located.  To 
give  you  a  clear  picture  of  the  situation,  I  have  to  describe  an  adobe  of  the 
better  type  a  little  more  clearly  than  I  have  done. 

The  one  we  are  going  to  enter  covers  an  area  of  about  one  hundred  and 


20  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

twenty  feet  square.  Imagine  that  the  outside  of  this  square,  say  twenty 
feet  in  width,  is  covered  with  a  low  building  enclosing  a  yard  eighty  feet 
square.  Within  the  inner  walls  is  a  row  of  rough  columns  supporting  a 
roof  which  extends  as  far  as  the  columns.  This  regular  colonnade  runs 
around  the  inside  of  the  yard,  substantially  in  the  same  manner  as  in  the 
buildings  unearthed  at  Herculaneum  and  Pompeii.  There  are  few  windows 
outside,  and  the  rooms,  dark  ones  at  best,  are  lighted  and  entered  from  the 
yard. 

Now,  to  get  at  the  pith  of  the  matter,  we  enter  through  a  portico  which 
leads  from  the  street  to  the  square  yard  referred  to  above,  and  in  the  centre 
we  find  a  circular  wall,  built  of  sun-dried  brick  ;  it  is  about  twenty  feet  in 
internal  diameter,  and  about  two  feet  high,  rounded  on  the  top.  This 
circle  has  two  openings,  and  is  surrounded  by  another  circle,  about  two 
feet  high  and  flat  on  top  ;  on  this  the  spectators  are  seated. 

To  fill  this  inner  and  outer  circle  with  actors  and  spectators  would  take 
a  pen  more  pliable  than  mine,  yet  I  will  make  the  attempt. 

When  I  speak  of  Mexicans,  you  must  remember  that  they  are  of  all 
kinds  and  types,  from  a  tawny  yellow,  such  as  you  see  frequently  in  the 
Dago  in  the  "  promised  land  "  (right  behind  my  house),  to  the  deep  red  of 
the  Indian,  and  even  as  black  as  a  Congo  negro.  And  right  here  you  have 
them  all  in  a  bunch.  Then  there  are  tourists  representing  all  the  States  in 
and  out  of  the  Union.  As  a  cosmopolitan  crowd,  there  is  nothing  to 
beat  it. 

In  the  inner  circle  are  a  lot  of  Mexicans,  each  one  having  his  fighting- 
cock  tied  to  a  string  by  a  peculiar  strap  around  one  leg,  and  a  lot  of  other 
roosters  tied  to  sticks  in  the  ground  all  over  the  yard.  You  may  imagine 
that  music  is  not  missing.  Each  bird  sends  his  note  of  defiance  to  every 
other,  and  sun-rise  in  a  barnyard  is  nothing  to  the  din  that  greets  your  ears. 
But  the  owners  of  the  fowls  are  equally  excited  ;  bets  have  to  be  made,  and 
to  make  bets  the  roosters  have  to  be  matched  as  nearly  as  possible  ;  and  it 
seems  that  weight  is  of  as  much  importance  in  a  cock-fight  as  in  the  prize 
ring,  where  human  brutes  fight  for  glory  and  cash. 

Considerable  time  is  thus  consumed.  But  when  the  purses  are  made  up 
and  all  the  bets  are  made  (and  I  tell  you  silver  dollars  seem  to  be  plenty), 
the  arena  is  cleared,  and  the  preparations  for  the  fight  begin  in  earnest. 
You  probably  think,  as  I  did,  that  the  roosters  fought  each  other  with  their 
natural  weapons  ;  but  there  you  are  mistaken.  The  owners  of  the  cocks 
pick  them  up  (and  right  here  I  may  say  that  they  seem  to  be  as  tame  as 
kittens,  and  look  as  if  they  had  been  raised  in  the  families  of  their  owners 
with  the  children),  and  fasten  to  the  left  leg  a  curved  knife,  sharp  as  a 
razor  and  about  four  inches  in  length.  I  asked  to  see  one  of  these 


LETTERS    FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


21 


"slashers,"  and  when  I  felt  the  keen  edge  and  saw  the  curved  shape,  I 
thought  that  Saladin's  sword  with  which  he  cut  the  silken  cushion  must 
have  furnished  the  pattern. 

Everything  being  ready,  the  two  roosters  were  held  by  their  owners — or,  I 
should  probably  say,  their  trainers — close  enough  for  them  to  just  reach  each 
other,  to  show  each,  I  suppose,  his  enemy.  They  were  then  released  about 
four  feet  apart,  and  they  flew  together  with  such  fury  that  both  were 
knocked  down.  But  they  were  up  and  at  it,  and,  in  less  time  than  it  takes 
to  tell  the  tale,  one  of  them  lay  dead.  I  must  own  up  to  a  little  squeamish- 


ness  (if  that  expresses  it),  and  I  intended  to  go  and  call  it  done.  But,  as  I 
tried  to  explain  to  you  in  my  last,  I  could  not  help  owning  up  that  there 
was  a  certain  attraction  that  caused  me  to  stay. 

The  preliminaries  of  the  second  fight  were  much  like  those  of  the  first ; 
but  the  fight  itself  lasted  much  longer  and  ended  in  one  of  the  roosters  run- 
ning away.  I  was  told  that  the  death  penalty  was  the  least  that  this  coward 
had  to  expect,  but  did  not  see  it  applied.  I  saw  a  third  fight,  and  then 
left. 

Now  I  must  tell  you  something  that  may  want  deep   thought.     You 


22  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

know  I  have  raised  chickens  for  a  good  many  years,  and  natter  myself  that 
I  am  a  pretty  fair  judge  of  roosters.  I  could  not,  therefore,  resist  the  temp- 
tation to  select  the  winning  birds.  Of  course,  I  could  not  bet  except  in  a 
mental  way.  I  picked  the  winning  birds  in  the  first  and  second  fights,  and 
when  the  third  fight  came  on,  a  gentleman  from  Kentucky  who  stops  at 
our  hotel  said  :  "  I  bet  you  that  white  rooster  will  win."  I  examined  the 
red  rooster  critically  and  concluded  he  would  be  the  winner,  and  we  bet, 
not  mentally,  but  half  a  dollar  a  side,  and  my  bird  lost  the  fight.  Now  I 
wonder  if  this  half-dollar  dimmed  my  judgment.  In  the  other  bets  I  was 
above  all  feelings  of  self-interest,  and  I  won,  but  here  I  lost.  You  would 
oblige  me  if  you  would  try  to  solve  this  riddle  for  me.  Some  night  when 
you  are  in  a  philosophical  mood,  you  may  find  the  key. 

But  I  have  something  to  say  about  the  actors.  It  surprised  me  to  see 
such  eagerness  in  the  lookers-on.  Their  faces  showed  an  excitement  you 
would  scarcely  expect  in  the  countenances  of  people  who  hardly  ever  smile. 
Our  white  fellow-creatures  seemed  to  partake  of  the  excitement,  and  while 
the  fight  was  going  on  you  could  have  heard  a  pin  drop.  I  left  after  the 
third  fight,  and  don't  think  I  will  ever  want  to  see  another. 


IX. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  March  17,  1893. 

I  SUPPOSE  you  noticed  (that  is,  if  you  read  my  letter  on  the  cock-fight) 
that  while  I  took  you  along  and  showed  all  there  was  to  be  seen  in  the 
cock-pit,  I  forgot  to  take  you  back  with  me  to  El  Paso.  I  felt  disgdsted 
with  the  brutal  fight,  and  perhaps  that  bet  may  have  had  something  to  do 
with  it.  At  any  rate  I  forgot  your  presence  and  took  the  first  mule  train 
to  get  away.  You  would  naturally  expect  that,  under  such  circumstances, 
a  stranger,  like  yourself,  for  instance,  would  want  to  use  his  time  to  see 
the  town  on  his  own  hook  ;  and  I  will  tell  you  what  usually  happens 
to  the  poor,  unprotected  foreigner  who  does  the  town  in  the  manner 
suggested. 

Of  course,  the  first  object  to  visit  is  the  old  church.  While  examining 
the  tower  with  its  three  bells,  a  young  gentleman  steps  up,  and,  looking 
with  a  great  deal  of  interest  at  the  tower,  remarks:  "Ah,  well,  I  suppose 
this  is  the  old  church  they  talk  so  much  about.  Well,  it  is  a  curiosity  ! 
Look  at  the  ropes  that  hold  the  bells  !  Why,  they  look  a  thousand  years 
old  instead  of  the  two  or  three  hundred  years  that  they  say  is  the  age  of  the 
church  !"  Of  course  the  stranger,  say  yourself,  is  pleased  to  find  somebody 
who  can  talk  his  "  lingo,"  and  then  the  young  man  is  evidently  a  tourist 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  23 

like  yourself  ;  he  carries  a  summer  overcoat  on  his  arm,  and  casually  in- 
forms you  that  he  has  an  hour  or  two  on  his  hands  before  his  train  starts 
for  the  East,  or  the  West,  and  he  thinks  the  best  use  he  can  make  of  this 
time  is  to  see  Juarez.  The  conversation  then  turns  on  the  various  objects 
in  sight.  The  young  man  is  exceedingly  anxious  to  get  your  opinion  on  all 
tiiere  it  to  be  seen,  all  is  so  new  and  strange,  and  so  you  stroll  along.  You 
see  the  bull-ring  and  cock-pit,  and,  having  been  there  before,  furnish  your 
new  friend  with  a  lot  of  information.  You  talk  of  the  habits  of  the  Mexi- 
cans, etc.,  when  your  friend  calls  your  attention  to  a  sign  on  one  of  the  best- 
looking  adobe  buildings  on  the  Plaza — "  El  Nuevo  Mondo  "  (The  New 
World) — and  remarks  :  '•'  I  suppose  this  is  something  of  a  real  Mexican  inn 
of  the  old  style.  I  wonder  what  it  looks  like  !  Have  you  ever  been  inside 
of  one  ?  "  You  have  not,  so  you  conclude  to  just  look  in  and  get  one  of  those 
celebrated  Mexican  cigars  and  a  glass  of  native  wine.  Your  new  friend 
objects  to  letting  you  pay  for  it,  and  playfully  suggests  to  follow  the  example 
of  two  Mexicans  who  arc  throwing  dice  for  drinks.  You  see  no  harm  in 
that,  and  throw  and  win.  You  have  to  give  your  friend  revenge  ;  the  ball  is 
started,  and  in  fifteen  minutes  by  the  watch  your  quondam  friend  has  cap- 
tured all  the  loose  cash  you  had  about  you  and  has  disappeared  from  the 
Boene. 

I  have  no  doubt  that  you  think  no  man  could  furnish  such  a  description 
unless  he  had  lived  through  it,  but  you  are  mistaken.  The  second  day 
after  I  landed  here,  and  before  I  tried  to  see  Juarez,  I  met  an  oldish  sort 
of  a  gentleman  (they  call  me  tin-  old  gentleman)  in  front  of  the  hotel,  who 
was  greatly  excited.  lie  had  but  just  arrived,  had  been  over  to  Juarez,  and 
"  dropped,"  as  they  say  hereabouts,  seventy-five  dollars  in  the  innocent  way 
I  have  described  above. 

The  oldish  gentleman  referred  to  is  the  gentleman  from  Kentucky  who 
won  the  bet  oil  the  third  tight  in  the  cock-pit  Sunday  last. 


X. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  March  22,  1893. 

I  HAVE  hesitated  for  a  day  or  two  about  sending  you  any  more  of  my 
pen-pictures  of  the  towns  of  El  Paso,  because  I  began  to  doubt  whether  these 
epistles  were  interesting  enough  to  you  to  keep  them  out  of  the  waste- 
basket. 

But  I  felt  encouraged  to  keep  on  when  I  saw  in  the  Statesman  that  you 
had  accepted  the  position  of  judge  in  the  "  gold  prizes  "  :  to  encourage 
home  literature  and  improvement.  You  may  consider  my  descriptions  of 


24 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


El  Paso  as  negative  contributions  mainly.  A  good  part  of  them  can  well 
serve  to  illustrate  how  not  to  do  things,  and  that  side  of  the  question  is  in 
most  cases  as  important  as  the  opposite. 

I  do  not  submit  my  letters  for  their  merits  as  literary  productions,  and 
I  don't  want  you  to  apply  any  of  the  ordinary  rules  of  grammar  or  orthog- 
raphy (I  believe  that  is  the  way  it  is  spelled),  but  to  consider  them  from 
the  standpoint  of  those  learned  men  who  for  years  have  tried  to  improve  (?) 
the  spelling  of  the  English  language  ! 

But  this  is  to  be  considered  only  as  a  sort  of  an  introduction  to  our  next 
trip  in  El  Paso  proper,  and  I  will  lead  you  along  substantially  as  I  would 
take  a  stranger  in  hand  to  show  him  Yonkers. 

As  you  know,  my  headquarters  for  the  last  two  mouths  have  been  in  the 


Vendome  Hotel,  and  that  is  as  good  a  place  to  start  from  on  our  present 
excursion  as  any  other.  We  will  start  out  and  cross  the  Plaza,  with  its 
fountain  in  the  centre  and  basin  in  which  there  are  actually  two  alligators. 
You  may  remember  that  I  expressed  a  doubt  as  to  their  existence  in  one  of 
my  first  letters  ;  but  there  they  are  as  large  as  life  (one  about  four  feet  six 
inches  and  the  other  four  feet  long),  and  as  we  pass  they  are  basking  in  the 
sun.  Now  these  animals  are  not  at  all  frisky.  I  have  watched  them  for 
hours  and  have  never  been  able  to  detect  any  movement  but  the  winking  of 
one  eye.  What  adds  some  interest  to  the  scene  is  when  some  dog  gets  into 
their  neighborhood,  and  then  the  whole  crowd  of  people  who,  like  the 
alligators,  are  basking  in  the  sun  on  the  seats  that  surround  the  basin,  watch 
with  a  great  deal  of  interest  to  see  what  may  take  place  if  the  poor  dog  gets 
too  close  to  the  front  end  of  the  alligator.  There  is  a  tradition  afloat  that 


LETTERS    FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  25 

at  -nme  time  u  little  dog  had  his  nose  pinched  by  one  of  the  saurians,  and, 
of  course,  everybody  expects  that  this  may  happen  again. 

I  very  much  doubt  that  any  of  the  lookers-on  would  really  wish  to  see  a 
poor  dog  swallowed  with  hide  and.  hair,  and  yet  this  expectation  gives  as 
peculiar  a  zest  to  the  spectacle  as  a  performance  on  the  tight-rope  so  danger- 
ous that  the  spectators  may  expect  to  see  a  neck  broken  at  any  time. 

But,  leaving  the  Plaza,  we  are  soon  on  El  Paso  Street,  the  principal 
business  street  of  the  city.  We  pass  on,  looking  to  the  right  and  left,  and 
reach  San  Antonio  Street,  which  terminates  at  El  Paso  Street  and  runs  at 
right  angles  to  it.  On  one  corner  is  one  of  the  three  national  banks,  and 
on  the  other  is  the  '•  Drawing-Room."  To  enable  the  passer-by  to  be  sure 
of  the  functions  of  the  "  Drawing- Room."  tlu-re  is  a  sign  crossing  the  whole 
broadside  of  the  building  on  San  Antonio  Street  with  the  legend  inscribed  : 
'•  This  is  a  saloon."  We  ]>a>s  on,  however,  and  the  second  or  third  door 
from  there  we  find  ourselves  in  front  of  the  finest  saloon  in  El  Paso,  namely, 
the  "White  House."  Its  appointments  are  A  Xo.  1,  and  the  gentlemanly 
proprietor  receives  us,  after  we  have  entered,  with  distinguished  honors. 
You  know,  he  is  a  man  of  importance  in  this  city,  and  no  stranger  who 
wants  to  be  considered  anybody  will  miss  the  opportunity  to  get  an  intro- 
duction. 

While  I  am  at  it,  I  may  as  well  interrupt  our  tour  of  inspection  for  a 
minute,  and  give  you  the  true  value  of  my  friend,  the  proprietor  of  the 
'•  White  House/'  I  met  him  some  time  ago,  in  company  with  some  gentle- 
men who,  like  myself,  do  not  wish  to  consume  what  little  drinking  water 
there  is  in  this  section.  He  invited  me  to  call  at  his  place,  and,  of  course, 
I  did,  and  he  showed  me  over  the  establishment — bar  in  front,  gambling- 
room  in  the  rear,  and  parlors  lip-stairs.  I  felt  highly  honored  with  my 
reception  ;  but  picture  to  yourself  my  surprise  when,  on  St.  Patrick's 
Day,  a  friend  of  the  proprietor  of  the  '•  White  House"  called  on  me  at  the 
hotel,  and  invited  me  to  take  a  seat  in  one  of  the  carriages  that  were  to 
form  a  part  of  the  procession.  Such  an  honor  could  not  be  refused,  and 
punctually  at  tun  P.M.  I  reported  at  the  "  White  House."  My  friend,  the 
proprietor,  was  to  act  as  grand  marshal,  and  I  doubt  if  any  marshal  of 
France  under  the  great  Napoleon  was  ever  dressed  as  grandly  as  he.  He 
is  a  gentleman  who  stands  six  feet  in  his  stockings,  and,  as  he  told  me, 
weighs  one  hundred  and  ninety  pounds.  He  is  well  proportioned,  and, 
riding  in  the  lead,  formed  a  grand  figure-head  for  the  parade. 

I  must  let  you  into  the  secret  of  this  St.  Patrick's  parade.  St.  Pat- 
rick's Day  had  to  be  celebrated,  and  as  real  Irishmen  are  very  scarce  in 
this  neighborhood,  it  would  never  have  done  to  have  the  affair  fail.  Every- 
body had  to  step  in  and  help  out,  and  such  Irishmen  as  Mr.  O'Schmecken- 


26  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

becker,  Mr.  O'Shulz,  Mr.  O'Muller,  and  Mr.  O'Eickemeyer,  decorated  with 
green  ribbons,  and  carrying  green  flags  with  the  harp  of  Erin,  did  yeomen's 
service  in  honor  of  the  patron  saint  of  old  Ireland. 

The  celebration  was  a  complete  success.  It  was  led  by  the  marshal  and 
his  staff ;  these  were  followed  by  the  McGinty  brass  band,  dressed  in  green 
coats  and  green  hats.  All  the  coaches  in  town  followed — the  mayor  and 
aldermen,  prominent  citizens,  and  such  strangers  as  were  thought  of  im- 
portance enough  (like  a  gentleman  from  New  York  and  his  wife,  and  myself, 
for  instance). 

The  procession  started  from  and  wound  up  at  the  city  hall ;  but  the 
real  centre  was  the  "  White  House.'"  All  the  participants  took  something 
before  they  started,  and  refreshed  themselves  again  after  the  procession 
had  finished.  In  the  evening  there  was  a  grand  supper  and  speeches,  to 
which  your  humble  servant  had  a  cordial  invitation ;  but,  unfortunately, 
having  taken  a  walk  of  about  three  and  a  half  miles  before  dinner,  and 
having  undergone  the  exertions  entailed  on  following  the  procession,  and 
also  in  getting  into  and  out  of  it,  I  had  to  stay  at  home  and  go  to  bed  early. 

From  what  I  heard  of  those  who  were  present,  I  should  judge  that,  aside 
from  the  mental  feast  (the  speeches,  and  so  forth),  the  supper  was  supplied 
on  the  recipe  of  a  friend  of  mine,  who  always  insisted  that  a  good  meal 
should  consist  of  one  dollar's  worth  of  eat  and  five  dollars'  worth  of  drink. 

When  I  started  in  I  expected  to  show  you  a  good  part  of  the  city,  but 
here  I  am.  We  have  just  walked  one  block  on  San  Antonio  Street,  and 
have  seen  two  of  the  important  points,  and  I  am  all  tired  out  and  must 
close.  I  will  promise  faithfully,  however,  to  carry  you  along  at  a  ten-mile 
gait  the  next  time,  when  I  will  call  for  you  at  the  "  White  House,"  where  I 
hope  you  will  enjoy  yourself  until  my  next. 


XI. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  March  23,  1893. 

YOURS  of  the  seventeenth  has  just  reached  me,  and  I  note  with  pleasure 
that  Uncle  Jacob  is  the  new  trustee.  If  good,  solid,  common  sense  is  a 
desirable  qualification,  he  has  that  in  the  highest  degree. 

Now,  as  to  your  flattering  proposition  to  publish  my  letters  in  the 
Statesman,  I  don't  see  my  way  clear.  When  I  first  came  here  I  had  a 
notion  to  send  to  Mr.  Oliver  some  of  my  views  about  matters  and  things 
hereabouts,  and  I  actually  started  in  and  wrote  a  number  of  pages,  when  I 
got  up  a  stump.  I  had  to  write  a  letter  as  if  I  was  delivering  a  lecture 
before  a  class  in  a  Sunday-school,  and  I  gave  it  up  in  despair.  The  letters 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  27 

I  wrote  you  would  bo  hardly  suitable  for  publication,  because  when  I  wrote 
them  I  did  not  try  to  hide  my  leanings.  You  have  undoubtedly  heard  of 
the  saying  of  old  Horace  Greeley,  when  somebody  asked  him  if  his  biog- 
raphy, which  had  just  been  published,  was  true.  "True!"  said  he.  ''I 
would  as  soon  walk  up  Broadway  naked  as  to  have  my  true  biography 
published  ! " 

When  I  tried  to  write  to  Mr.  Oliver,  I  had  to  write  as  if  in  full-dress 
suit,  my  best  manners  ready  at  hand  ;  while  the  letters  I  wrote  you  were, 
figuratively  speaking,  written  in  my  shirt-sleeves,  my  boots  on  the  table, 
pulling  a  cigar,  a  good  glass  of  "Blue  Grass"  in,  and  another  in  sight. 

A  day  or  two  ago  I  wrote  you  a  treatise  on  a  new  theory,  or,  rather,  a 
new  philosophy  on  the  good  and  the  bad,  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  after 
reading  it  you  will  take  my  view  of  my  letters.  If  you  edited  them  to 
make  them  suitable  for  the  Sftih:«uinn,  you  would  have  "to  play  Hamlet 
with  Hamlet  left  out/'  And  then,  again,  I  may  not  get  away  from  here 
for  some  time;  and  if,  by  some  unforeseen  circumstance,  one  of  the  copies 
of  the  Statesman  -should  find  its  way  down  to  El  Paso,  some  of  our  best 
citizens  might  take  exception  to  my  views,  and  might  feel  tempted  to  use 
me  as  a  target,  a  thing  1  should  very  much  regret. 


XII. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  March  26,  1893. 

WHEN  I  left  you  in  the  "White  House,"  three  or  four  days  ago,  I  did  not 
expect  that  your  stay  there  would  be  such  a  lengthy  one.  Had  I  thought 
that  I  could  not  take  up  our  tour  until  to-day,  I  might  have  taken  you  to 
the  hotel  with  me,  and  given  you  three  or  four  days  to  study  "mine  host" 
and  his  customers.  We  will  do  that  some  time  later  on,  and  will  now  pro- 
ceed down  San  Antonio  Street  and  see  what  is  to  be  seen. 

The  "  White  House"  is,  as  you  may  remember,  on  the  left-hand  side  of 
the  street,  and  diagonally  opposite  is  the  "Tepee,"  a  fashionable  resort  in 
which  the  young  Moods  of  our  best  citizens  can  be  found.  It  has  its  gam- 
bling establishment  in  the  rear,  and  posters  inform  visitors  that  keno  is 
played  every  night. 

While  I  think  of  it,  I  may  as  well  refer  to  a  little  thing  that  happened 
in  this  place  some  time  ago.  A  number  of  the  sons  of  the  same  best 
citizens  referred  to  before  called  at  the  "  Tepee "  late  at  night,  or,  more 
properly  speaking,  early  in  the  morning.  All  were  drunk,  and  the 
barkeeper,  being  sober,  refused  to  sell  them  any  more  liquor ;  whereupon 
the  young  gentlemen  drew  their  "guns, "and  a  general  shooting-match  was 


28  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

in  operation.  Fortunately,  no  other  damage  was  done  than  the  smashing 
of  looking-glasses,  bottles,  and  so  forth,  for  which  an  amicable  settlement 
was  made  next  day. 

Adjoining  this  establishment  is  the  "Kitchen,"  and  this  place. is  so 
characteristic  that  it  deserves  special  notice.  It  is  a  restaurant  kept,  like 
most  others  in  this  city,  by  sons  of  the  Chinese  Empire.  As  you  enter  you 
see  on  your  left  a  counter,  behind  which  the  cashier  is  seated.  He  is 
dressed  in  immaculate  white  ;  his  pigtail  is  wound  around  his  head  in  such 
an  artistic  way  that  it  seems  to  form  the  edge  of  a  black  skull-cap,  the 
black  hair  on  his  head,  carefully  drawn  down,  forming  the  crown.  A  row 
of  tables  extends  through  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  on  each  side  are 
stalls  in  which  parties  of  four  can  dine  in  private.  The  waiters  are  all 
Chinamen  and  are  dressed  like  the  cashier,  and  the  whole  place  is  as  neat 
as  a  pin.  The  meals  served  are  excellent,  which  is  more  than  can  be  said 
of  most  of  the  places  I  have  tried  since  I  left  home. 

There  are  about  a  dozen  establishments  of  this  kind  in  the  city  that 
are  principally  patronized  by  visitors,  as  but  few  stay  at  the  hotels  for  any 
length  of  time.  In  almost  every  private  house  are  furnished  rooms  to  let, 
and  most  of  the  invalids,  after  their  arrival,  select  private  rooms  and  take 
their  meals  at  these  restaurants. 

But  I  see  I  have  to  get  on,  or  we  will  never  get  through  with  our  trip  ; 
and,  by  the  way,  I  think  I  have  found  the  reason  why  my  letters  get  more 
long-winded  the  longer  I  keep  at  it.  When  I  left  home  I  did  not  take  any- 
thing along  to  read  during  my  absence.  In  New  Orleans  I  found  that  I 
did  not  want  to  read  newspapers  all  the  time,  and  you  may  imagine  my 
pleasure  when  I  found,  on  a  news-stand,  a  copy  of  Scott's  "  Ivanhoe  "  and 
another  of  "  Kenilworth."  I  have  read  these  two  until  I  have  "  Ivanhoe" 
by  heart  and  "Kenilworth  "  almost  as  well,  and  I  think  this  fact  accounts 
for  a  good  deal  of  my  composition,  in  so  far  as  the  minutiae  of  description 
are  concerned. 

At  this  end  of  the  block  is  the  second  of  the  National  banks  of  this  city, 
and  on  the  opposite  corner  is  the  third.  The  next  block  starts  in  as  the 
first  one  on  El  Paso  Street  did,  namely,  with  a  saloon.  The  one  on  El 
Paso  Street  bore  the  legend :  "  This  is  a  saloon " ;  and  the  one  on  this 
corner — the  "Castle" — has  a  sign  of  equal  size  and  prominence  :  "This  is 
the  other  saloon."  It  is  not  worth  while  to  inspect  them  all ;  but  we  will 
pass  on  and  simply  read  the  signs.  For  a  whole  block,  saloons  and 
restaurants  follow  each  other,  and  the  sidewalk  is  filled  with  the  customers 
of  these  places. 

After  we  have  passed  this  business  block  we  find  a  number  of  brick 
buildings  in  which  other  kinds  of  trade  are  carried  on,  and  the  El  Paso 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  29 

Herald,  one  of  the  daily  newspapers,  stretches  its  sign  in  heavy  gilt  letters 
OUT  the  sidewalk.  I  may  in  time  give  you  an  introduction  to  the  editor  ; 
but  at  present  we  have  to  pass  on  to  reach  the  institution  I  have  been 
anxious  to  take  you  to  for  some  time. 

As  we  turn  to  our  right  we  see,  on  a  wooden  building  one  story  high, 
and  at  the  corner  of  the  next  street,  a  sign  projecting  some  ten  feet,  with 
the  inscription:  "Horse  Restaurant."  This  is  a  most  important  institu- 
tion. It  is  called  the  "corral,"  and  all  the  ranch  owners  who  visit  the  city 
to  purchase  supplies  put  up  their  "democrat"  wagons,  covered  with  can- 
vas, and  their  ponies,  horses,  or  mules,  in  the  yard  of  this  establishment. 
If  you  wish  to  see  the  regular  Texas  ranger,  or  the  cow-boy  tiu adulterated, 
this  is  your  hunting-ground. 


XIII. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  March  27,  1893. 

I  HAVE  tried  before  to  give  you  an  insight  into  the  social  conditions  of 
this  place  by  roughly  classifying  the  inhabitants  into  two  sorts;  namely, 
the  good  and  the  bad.  But  as  I  become  more  and  more  initiated,  I  find 
that  I  had  done  better  had  I  said  that  there  are  two  streams  which  flow 
alongside  of  each  other,  and  only  mingle  in  the  gambling-houses — one 
representing  the  American,  and  the  other  the  Mexican  nationality — and 
then  divided  both  in  the  manner  above  stated.  Yet  even  this  division 
would  be  faulty,  for  who  can  say  what  is  good  and  what  is  bad  ? 

I  left  you  reading  a  sign  on  the  corner  of  a  street,  and  I  will  now  take 
you  into  an  establishment  that  forms  the  social  and  business  centre  of 
one  class  of  the  population  of  El  Paso  and  the  country  that  surrounds 
the  city. 

It  is  the  "  corral,"  the  city  centre  of  "  ranger  "  life.  A  piece  of  ground 
about  three  hundred  feet  long  and  sixty  or  eighty  feet  wide  has,  on  one  side, 
a  row  of  stalls  in  which  the  horses  and  mules  are  kept.  The  little  frame 
building  on  the  corner  serves  as  a  sort  of  office,  and  the  " rangers"  use  the 
yard  to  keep  their  wagons  in  during  their  stay  in  town. 

The  proprietor  of  the  Horse  Restaurant,  whom  we  met  at  the  gate,  takes 
us  in  hand,  and,  passing  along  in  the  rear  of  the  open  stalls,  he  shows  us  his 
stock.  Small  Texas  ponies,  called  broncos,  are  in  the  majority,  but  here 
and  there  we  see  fine,  broad-chested  saddle-horses,  and  even  Percherons,  the 
elephants  among  the  tribes  of  horses,  represented.  Two  vehicles  are  drawn 
up  on  one  side  of  the  yard,  true  copies  of  the  celebrated  emigrant  wagons 
that  carried  the  early  pioneers  to  the  wild  West. 


30  LETTERS  FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

The  proprietor  is  an  ex-Confederate  soldier.  He  served  during  the  war 
in  one  of  the  Texas  regiments,  and  is  a  man  between  fifty  and  sixty  years 
of  age,  with  sandy  hair  and  whiskers,  and  light  gray  eyes.  If  you  ever  go 
down  East — say  to  Maine— and  look  at  the  farmer  who  has  followed  the 
plough  all  his  life,  you  will  find  the  perfect  counterpart  of  the  proprietor 
of  the  Horse  Kestaurant.  His  stooping  shoulders,  his  sharp,  bright  eyes,  his 
quiet  and  measured  movements,  reminded  me  so  strongly  of  the  "  down- 
easter  "  that  I  could  hardly  believe  my  eyes  when  I  found  I  had  one  of  the 
Confederate  heroes  before  me,  who  had  served  in  the  bloody  fights  of  1861 
to  1865. 

The  conversation  turned,  of  course,  on  horses  and  their  good  and  bad 
points,  and  even  the  mules  and  "burros"  were  not  forgotten.  As  we 
returned  toward  the  gate,  a  young  man  stepped  out  of  the  office,  and  we 
were  introduced  to  him  as  a  ranchman  from  Hueco  Tanks.  He  was  a 
handsome  young  fellow,  about  twenty-five  years  of  age,  straight  as  an 
arrow,  and  dressed  in  Mexican  style.  A  real  sombrero  ornamented  with 
gold  and  silver  braid  covered  his  black  hair,  and  his  dark  eyes  and  smooth 
face  smiling  under  the  broad  brim  made  you  pleased  to  shake  hands  with 
him.  A  black  jacket,  light-colored  pantaloons,  and  an  embroidered  vest 
completed  his  suit.  Two  or  three  other  gentlemen  joined  us,  and  the  con- 
versation turned  from  horses  and  burros  to  politics  and  the  inauguration  of 
Mi*.  Cleveland,  and  here  the  Eastern  man  had  the  advantage.  None  of  those 
present  had  ever  seen  Washington,  and  a  description  of  all  the  glories  of  our 
capital  was  listened  to  with  both  eyes  and  ears  open  by  the  enthusiastic 
Texans,  who  seem  to  look  upon  Mr.  Cleveland  as  the  great  representative  of 
the  cause  for  which  they  had  fought. 

While  the  conversation  was  carried  on  behind  the  fence  alongside  of  the 
gate,  where  a  pile  of  old  boards  and  some  empty  nail  kegs  served  as  seats  for 
the  audience,  a  new  figure  hove  in  sight.  A  regular  cow-boy  came  riding 
into  the  yard.  His  horse,  a  good-sized  Texan,  showed  some  signs  of  travel, 
having  made,  in  fact,  forty-five  miles  that  forenoon,  and  the  rider,  also, 
showed  that  out  on  the  plains  the  sand  had  been  drifting  enough  to  cover 
him  with  dust. 

A  lariat  was  suspended  from  the  pommel  of  his  huge  Mexican  saddle  ; 
a  broad-brimmed  Stetson  hat  covered  his  head,  and  pantaloons  tucked  in 
his  boots,  together  with  extraordinarily  large  spurs,  completed  his  outfit — 
not  to  forget  a  Colt's  revolver  suspended  from  a  cartridge-belt  that  he 
wore  around  his  waist.  That  finished  the  typical  cow-boy  of  Texas  and 
New  Mexico.  The  gentleman  had  just  come  in  from  Hueco  Tanks,  a  cattle 
range  some  forty-five  miles  from  El  Paso.  After  inquiries  about  mutual 
friends,  the  conversation  turned  on  some  local  news  that  seemed  to  be 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


31 


new  to  the  cow-boy.  I  think  it  is  thirty  miles  from  here  to  Las  Cruces, 
where,  the  day  before,  a  young  man,  a  student  in  a  college  at  Las  Cruces, 
had  been  shot  dead  by  a  cow-boy  who  was  out  of  funds,  and  robbed  of  a  few 
dollars.  The  reputation  of  the  cow-boy  was  that  of  a  bad  man,  and  the 
question  that  was  uppermost  in  all  minds  was  whether  he  should  be  lynched, 
or  hung  in  the  regular  way.  Other  matters  of  similar  nature  also  came  up 
and  were  talked  of.  When  we  withdrew,  our  friends  invited  us  to  repeat 
our  visit  whenever  we  had  any  leisure  time  on  our  hands,  which  we  promised 
to  do. 

Now,  as  I  have  introduced  to  you  the  gentlemen  who  frequent  the  corral, 
I  will  give  you  something  of  their  history.  The  proprietor  of  the  Horse 
Restaurant  owns  a  number  of  stock-ranges  ;  he  is  a  wealthy  man.  But  some 
years  ago  he  filled  some  of  his  neighbors  with  buckshot,  and  he  has  not 


32  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

visited  that  particular  range  for  some  time.  It  is  said  that  the  boys  out 
there  are  lying  in  wait  for  him  in  the  chaparral,  and  intend  to  give  him  a 
warm  welcome  should  he  venture  there.  As  to  the  ranchman  and  the 
cow-boy,  why,,  they  are  the  two  heroes  who,  four  or  five  weeks  ago,  filled  the 
two  cattle  thieves  with  bullets. 

What  I  have  related  here  is  not,  as  you  may  imagine,  a  fancy  picture. 
It  is  true  to  life,  every  line  of  it.  You  will  agree  with  me  that  it  would  be 
ill-advised  to  publish  my  letters  before  I  have  put  at  least  a  thousand  miles 
between  myself  and  this  glorious  city  of  the  North  Pass. 


XIV. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  March  28,  1893. 

You  may  have  noticed  that  when  I  took  you  over  to  Juarez  on  a  Sun- 
day, some  time  ago,  I  kind  of  hustled  you  along.  That  is,  we  went  over 
there  in  a  sort  of  way  to  attract  as  little  attention  as  possible.  We 
sneaked  into  the  cocking-main  and  got  out  in  a  sort  of  guilty  way.  It 
was  on  a  Sunday,  you  know,  and  up  our  way  we  would  not  like  to  be  seen 
doing  such  a  thing. 

Well,  I  have  now  resided  here  two  months,  breathing  the  free  air  of 
Western  Texas  and  basking  in  the  sunshine,  and  things  and  manners  that 
at  first  seemed  to  go  against  the  grain,  as  it  were,  seem  now  all  regular  and 
proper. 

On  our  side  of  the  Kio  Grande,  however,  you  are  continually  reminded 
of  the  Northern  States  and  their  Puritanical  notions,  and  you  have  to  go 
over  to  Juarez  and  leave  the  horse-car  tracks  to  be  transplanted  into  a  new 
and  strange  world. 

Sunday  is  the  gala  day  of  the  Mexicans,  and  if  you  wish  to  see  them  at 
their  best,  you  must  go  over  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  when  all,  old  and 
young,  are  out  of  the  adobe  houses — the  children  playing  in  the  sun,  the 
young  senoritas  promenading  the  streets,  and  the  senors  walking  about  in 
their  best  attire. 

Of  course,  the  stores  and  cantinas  (rum-shops)  are  open,  and  the  venders 
of  onions,  peppers,  and  other  Mexican  delicacies  carry  on  their  trades  on 
all  the  street  corners.  Among  the  Americans,  the  Mexicans  have  the 
reputation  of  having  no  enterprise  ;  but  before  we  get  across  the  river  I 
can  furnish  a  proof  that  this  is  a  mean  slander.  The  usual  way  to  go  to 
Juarez  is  by  horse-car,  and  then  you  are  taxed  ten  cents ;  or,  if  you  walk 
across  one  of  the  bridges  of  the  International  horse-car  lines  you  are  taxed 
two  and  a  half  cents.  Now,  don't  you  see  that  even  here  in  the  "  Sunny 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


33 


South  "  the  grasping  capitalist  has  spread  his  net  to  catch  the  pennies  of 
the  poor  traveller.  This  exaction  has  led  to  a  competition  entirely  credit- 
able to  our  enterprising  "  Greasers."  At  the  present  stage  of  the  river  the 
water  is  not  much  deeper  or  wider  than  our  own  Nepperhan  above  the 
Moquette  mills.  Two  stout,  broad-shouldered  Mexicans  in  high  boots  have 
started  a  ferry  across  the  stream.  For  one  and  a  quarter  cents  they  carry 
men,  women,  and  children  over  the  river,  and  I  tell  you  the  enterprise 
pays  big.  A  long  string  of  passengers  from  both  sides  travel  to  and  fro  on 
the  two-legged  ferry-boats,  and  the  wily  capitalist  is  cheated  out  of  his  toll. 


The  path  from  the  ferry  leads  to  highly  cultivated  gardens  in  which,  for 
weeks,  the  peach  and  apricot  trees  have  been  in  full  bloom,  and  pears  and 
apples  cast  their  snowy  flowers  on  the  ground.  Every  inch  of  land  is  cul- 
tivated, and  the  canals  that  serve  to  irrigate  the  land  flow  peacefully  in  all 
directions,  carrying  their  life-giving  moisture  to  tree  and  shrub. 

The  culture  of  grapes  is  rather  singular.  When  I  first  came  here  I  saw 
large  pieces  of  ground  that  seemed  to  be  covered  with  mammoth  mole-hills. 
These  hills,  five  or  six  feet  apart,  had  a  scrubby  looking  bush  sticking  out 
of  the  centre.  The  mole-hills  have  now  disappeared.  The  soil,  which  had 


34  LETTERS   FKOM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

been  piled  around  the  vines  to  protect  them,  has  all  been  spread  out  and 
levelled  off,  leaving  only  long  furrows  between  the  lines  ;  into  these  the 
water  has  been  turned  to  moisten  the  roots.  The  first  leaves  are  now 
sprouting,  and  give  a  reddish-green  cast  to  the  tops  of  the  vines. 

It  is  a  novel  sight  to  a  Northern  man  to  see  garden  beds  surrounded  by 
boards  that  form  basins  to  hold  the  water;  and  where  no  boards  are  used, 
the  paths  are  raised  above  the  beds  to  make  dikes  for  the  miniature  lakes 
in  which  vegetables  and  flowers  are  planted  and  raised. 

The  whole  country  around  Juarez  shows  that  it  has  been  under  cultiva- 
tion for  many  years,  yet  the  soil  is  as  fruitful  as  ever.  The  waters  of  the 
Kio  Grande,  like  the  waters  of  the  Nile  in  old  Egypt,  carry  the  top  soil  of 
the  mountains  in  which  they  have  their  source,  and  deposit  it  year  after 
year  upon  the  land,  keeping  it  up  to  its  full  bearing  power. 

The  grape-vines  and  gardens  are  generally  surrounded  by  adobe  walls 
connecting  with  the  adobe  houses  of  the  inhabitants,  and  it  is  a  singular 
sight  to  see  a  landscape  where  all  there  is  has  but  one  color.  Everything  is 
of  the  color  of  the  soil.  The  adobe  bricks  of  which  the  houses  are  built 
are  made  on  the  spot  where  the  houses  are  to  stand.  A  hole  is  dug,  and  the 
clay  is  mixed  with  water  in  the  pit.  The  bricks  are  moulded  in  wooden 
moulds,  and  are  generally  eighteen  inches  long,  ten  to  twelve  wide,  and  four 
to  five  inches  thick.  In  a  week's  time  they  are  dried  sufficiently  to  be  put 
into  walls.  Some  more  of  the  soil  is  mixed  with  water,  and  this  furnishes 
the  cement  to  bind  the  structure  together. 

You  see,  Mother  Nature  has  furnished  every  thing  ready  at  hand  to  build 
a  house,  except  the  timber  for  the  roof,  which  is  supplied  from  the  luxuri- 
ant growth  of  cottonwood  on  the  shores  of  the  Rio  Grande  and  the  irrigat- 
ing canals,  and  this  is  the  only  material  that  has  to  be  brought  from  the 
water's  edge. 

Few  of  the  houses  in  the  suburbs  of  Juarez  have  glass  windows.  As  a 
rule,  a  square  hole  in  the  wall  with  a  tight  wooden  shutter,  open  all  day, 
summer  or  winter,  furnishes  all  the  light  needed  in  the  house.  The  cook- 
ing, washing,  and  eating  are  all  done  out  of  doors.  The  houses  I  have  had 
an  opportunity  to  look  into  do  not  seem  to  be  overstocked  with  furniture. 
A  bedstead  or  two,  and  a  bench,  constituted  all  there  was,  and  even  these 
showed  that  the  enterprising  Yankee  had  been  around  and  had  sold  the 
Mexicans  "  Grand  Rapids  "  furniture. 

I  intended  to  take  you  to  Juarez  first,  because  there  you  can  see  all  grades 
of  houses  and  all  classes  of  Mexican  people,  from  the  pure  white  Castilians 
(the  military  officers  in  the  Presidio)  to  the  black  and  tawny  peons ; 
houses  furnished  with  all  the  luxury  of  Europe  or  America,  and  houses  like 
those  I  have  described  above.  You  even  find  the  gratings  that  separate  the 


LETTERS   FROM  THE   SOUTHWEST.  35 

lovers  in  Spanish  novels,  and  which  project  in  front  of  the  house  to  allow 
the  sefioritas  a  look  up  and  down  the  street.  In  my  next  I  will  try  to 
sketch  the  houses  and  streets,  and  fill  them  with  the  people  by  whom  they 
are  inhabited. 

XV. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  April  1,  1893. 

YOUR  letter  of  the  twenty-third  of  March  has  pleased  me  very  much. 
It  showed  that  all  honest  efforts  to  instruct  people  are  successful,  provided 
the  seed  is  planted  in  the  proper  soil.  From  the  tenor  of  your  letter  I 
judge  that  I  have  made  no  mistake  in  the  selection  of  my  audience. 

In  my  last  I  promised  to  take  you  over  to  Juarez  again,  and  show  you 
the  houses  and  the  streets  filled  with  people.  Well,  it  is  mighty  easy  to 
make  rash  promises,  but  it  is  not  nearly  as  easy  to  fulfil  them. 

During  the  last  eight  or  ten  days  the  temperature  has  increased  to  such 
an  extent  that  all  efforts  to  do  anything  become  hardships.  Think  of  it : 
our  rooms  in  the  hotel  are  up  to  seventy-five  degrees  Fahrenheit  right  along, 
and  in  the  daytime  the  thermometer  registers,  with  windows  and  doors 
open,  a  temperature  of  from  seventy-eight  degrees  to  ninety  degrees.  To 
go  over  to  Juarez  in  such  weather  is  asking  altogether  too  much — even  in 
imagination — and  I  will  have  to  suspend  our  trip  until  a  "norther"  cools 
the  atmosphere  to  some  extent. 

But  of  course  there  is  no  objection  to  taking  a  look  at  our  hotel  and 
its  guests,  especially  as  you  will  not  have  to  travel  a  great  way ;  and,  on 
the  whole,  the  heat  here  is  not  very  oppressive,  the  air  U  ing  so  dry  that  you 
don't  feel  it  much.  The  great  trouble  is  to  supply  the  inner  man  with 
moisture  enough  to  counteract  the  rapid  evaporation  through  the  pores  of 
the  skin. 

So,  you  see,  the  place  where  this  moisture  is  supplied  may  properly 
form  the  starting  point  from  which  we  will  visit  the  Hotel  Vendome.  The 
bar-room  is  located  on  the  corner  of  St.  Louis  Street,  and  the  bar  is  pre- 
sided over  by  Mr.  Potter  of  Texas,  assisted  by  a  gentleman  of  the  colored 
persuasion  who  does  the  rough  work  (cleaning  the  glasses,  wiping  off  the 
counter,  and  so  forth),  while  Mr.  Potter  dispenses  the  drinks  with  gentle- 
manly politeness. 

I  have  studied  the  drinks  carefully,  and  can  recommend  one  of  Mr. 
Potter's  specialties.  He  brews  a  milk  punch  unsurpassed  in  my  experience. 
Adjoining  the  bar-room  proper  is  another  room,  which  serves  as  a  sort  of 
sitting-room  for  those  who  want  to  have  the  time  extended  during  which  the 
cooling  drinks  pass  the  lips.  In  one  corner  of  this  room  is  a  little  closet 


36 


LETTERS   FROM   THE    SOUTHWEST. 


or  small  room,  partitioned  off  for  those  guests  who  enjoy  a  little  private 
game  of  cards  ;  and,  between  us,  I  must  tell  you  that  I  myself  hud  an 
invitation  to  a  game  of  "  round-up,"  which  I  had,  however,  to  decline  on 
account  of  my  ignorance  of  it,  and  for  some  other  reasons  which  will  appear 
later  on.  From  these  rooms  we  pass  to  the  reading-room,  where  the 
"drummers"  do  their  writing,  and  where  in  the  evening  the  "regulars" 
come  together  to  tell  stories. 

When  I  speak  of  the  "  regulars  "  I  mean  those  of  the  guests  who  have 
been  here  for  some  length  of  time,  in  a  measure  permanent  boarders.     Of 


course,  some  go  and  others  take  their  places,  but  nobody  is  admitted  in 
less  time  than  a  week  or  two.  Most  of  these  "regulars"  are  "lungers," 
and  they  usually  introduce  themselves  by  a  long  description  of  all  their  ail- 
ments, and  their  experiences  in  the  different  sections  of  the  country  where 
they  have  been.  This  is  not  the  most  cheerful  part  of  the  introduction, 
but  it  generally  don't  last  long,  because  there  are  other  "  regulars  "  who 
have  already  told  their  tales. 

One  of  our  coterie  is  a  gentleman,  formerly  from  Kingston,  N.  Y.,  who 
is  a  representative  of  the  original  Californian  "  Forty-niners."  He  landed 
there,  I  think  he  said,  with  the  first  lot  by  way  of  Panama.  He  was  in 


LETTERS   FROM  THE   SOUTHWEST.  37 

Nevada  during  the  time  when  Mark  Twain  ran  a  store  in  Carson  City,  and 
he  knows  every  man,  woman,  and  child  that  ever  lived  on  the  Pacific  Slope. 
The  business  he  is  on  now  is  a  "  gold  mine  "  that  he  discovered  sixty  miles 
from  here,  and  he  is  looking  for  some  one  to  buy  it  from  him. 

Then  we  have  the  "  dominie/'  a  Presbyterian  preacher,  who  is  here  to 
regain  his  voice.  He  puts  the  company  on  their  good  behavior,  and 
••cuss"  words  don't  sound  good  when  he  is  around.  We  have  the 
"judge";  he  is  a  lawyer,  from  Louisiana,  I  think,  but  he  is  an  old 
resident  here,  and  does  a  little  private  business  in  the  little  room  referred 
to  above.  In  fact,  he  gets  acquainted  with  new-comers  quicker  than  any- 
body else,  and  it  often  happens  that  he  takes  parties  of  three  over  to  the 
bar,  and,  later  on,  a  social  game  is  played,  and  they  say  the  "judge" 
usually  wins. 

Then  we  have  the  "  gentleman  from  Kentucky" — or,  I  should  say,  we 
had,  because  he  left  us  a  week  ago  to  go  to  Las  Vegas.  He  was  thoroughly 
posted  on  horses  ;  but  the  knowledge  that  he  possessed  of  all  kinds  of 
drinks  proved  him  to  be  a  true  son  of  old  "Kentuck."  In  addition  to 
these  we  have  the  "gentleman  from  Michigan,"  who  has  travelled  a  good 
deal  in  Mexico.  He  can  tell  more  about  the  effects  of  the  Mexican  national 
drink,  tui/iicln,  than  about  the  scenery;  and,  besides  these,  we  take  in 
"transients  "  to  fill  out  the  gaps. 

But  I  had  almost  overlooked  the  father  of  the  "regulars."  He  is  from 
Delaware  ;  has  been  an  engineer  in  "Uncle  Sam's"  service;  has  surveyed 
the  Indian  Territory,  and  tells  Indian  stories  that  confirm  you  in  General 
Sherman's  view,  "that  the  only  good  Indian  is  a  dead  Indian."  He  is  now 
a  peach-planter  in  Delaware,  where  his  father  and  his  grandfather  before 
him  have  lived,  and  he  is  here  for  the  benefit  of  his  health. 

Then  we  have,  every  day,  new  faces.  One  day  it  is  an  English  lord 
and  his  family  ;  the  next  day  it  is  a  Scotch  laird,  who,  with  his  daughter, 
takes  long  walks,  and  wears  shoes  with  hob-nails.  These  honor  us  with  a 
short  stay. 

And  what  do  you  think  !  John  Wanamaker  is  expected  here  to-mor- 
row !  (Of  course,  it  would  be  sinful  to  travel  on  Sunday.)  He  will  stop 
over  for  the  day,  and  our  parson  has  told  me  that  he  will  be  invited  to 
preside  at  a  Sunday-school  convention  which  is  especially  called  on  his 
account. 

Our  landlord  is  like  all  others  I  have  met,  and  the  "house"  is  as  much 
like  other  country  hotels  as  one  egg  is  like  another ;  so  it  is  not  worth 
while  to  waste  any  paper  on  either. 


38  LETTERS   FROM  THE   SOUTHWEST. 


XVI. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  April  2,  1893. 

IN  my  last  I  referred  to  a  gentleman  who  represents  in  our  set  of 
"  regulars"  the  "pioneer"  of  the  early  days  of  California,  and  the  glori- 
ous times  when  a  private  graveyard  constituted  an  essential  part  of  a 
gentleman's  equipment  in  Nevada. 

The  incidental  mention  of  this  gentleman  in  connection  with  half  a 
dozen  or  more  of  others  would  hardly  do  justice  to  a  man  whose  life  has 
been  so  varied,  and  who  has  seen  so  much  of  pioneer  life  in  the  far  West. 
To  give  you  an  idea  of  the  man,  I  will  say  he  is  six  feet  one  in  his  stock- 
ings ;  his  eyes  are  as  keen  as  a  knife-edge  ;  he  is  broad-shouldered,  and 
his  fists  would  do  honor  to  a  prize-fighter.  His  weight  would  be  some- 
where near  one  hundred  and  ninety,  and  his  hair  and  beard  are  of  a  gray 
color.  He  looks  like  a  man  who  has  seen  a  good  deal  of  life,  and  who  can 
take  care  of  himself  in  any  case. 

Now  you  might  expect  that  a  man  of  this  type  would  be  overbearing 
and  surly,  but  you  were  never  more  mistaken.  He  seems  to  be  a  jolly,  over- 
grown boy,  who  likes  to  spin  yarns  by  the  hour,  and  is  ever  ready  to  relate 
the  hair-breadth  escapes  he  has  had.  I  met  him  in  front  of  the  hotel  a 
week  or  two  ago,  and  he  started  a  conversation. 

I  soon  learned  that  he  was  an  old  Californian  miner,  that  he  had  discov- 
ered a  gold  mine  in  New  Mexico,  and  was  looking  for  some  capitalists  to 
take  an  interest  in  his  mine  and  work  it.  He  next  had  to  show  me  some  of 
the  ore,  which  he  kept  in  the  hotel  yard.  To  demonstrate  how  rich  it  was, 
he  pounded  up  a  piece  of  rock  about  as  big  as  his  fist  in  an  iron  mortar,  and 
then  began  to  wash  it  out,  in  the  same  manner  that  he  had  washed  out  gold 
in  California,  when  a  panful  of  earth  produced  from  sixty  to  five  hundred 
dollars.  This  piece  of  rock  would  only  show  color ;  at  least  I  thought  I 
could  see  something  yellow  on  the  edge  of  the  dirt  in  the  pan  after  he  had 
washed  it  out.  I  felt  interested.  I  had  never  seen  anybody  wash  out  gold, 
and  his  stories  of  rich  finds  in  California  also  interested  me  ;  so,  as  he 
seemed  to  take  a  liking  to  me,  he  in  a  short  time  became  a  member  of  the 
"regulars." 

I  tell  you  this  simply  to  introduce  our  "pioneer"  and  give  him  an 
opportunity  to  tell  some  of  the  stories  which  have  furnished  no  small  part 
of  our  entertainment  for  some  time.  It  would  be  impossible  for  me  to 
give  an  outline  of  his  tales.  I  will,  therefore,  tell  them  as  nearly  as  possible 
in  his  own  words  ;  or,  rather,  let  him  tell  them  himself. 

He  got  a-going  on  some  of  his  Californian  stories  in  this  way.     Some 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


39 


guests  returned  to  the  hotel  one  evening  with  a  good  string  of  ducks  that 
they  had  shot  on  some  pools  of  water  not  a  great  way  from  El  Paso.  After 
the  game  had  been  regularly  inspected,  the  conversation  turned  on  hunt- 
ing. From  ducks  it  went  to  jack-rabbits;  from  these  to  deer  and  antelope; 
finally,  bears  and  mountain  lions  came  up,  and  then  our  friend  from 
California  had  a  story  to  tell.  "  You  see,"  he  began,  "  when  I  first  went 
to  California,  in  '49,  the  mountains  were  full  of  grizzly  bear.  I  had  many 
a  hard  fight  with  them,  and  killed  a  great  number  ;  but  there  was  one  old 
fellow  (he  weighed  fourteen  hundred  pounds)  who  gave  us  a  great  deal  of 


trouble.     I  went  for  him  more  than  once,  but,  somehow  or  other,  he  always 
got  away ;  so,  finally,  I  concluded  to  trap  him. 

"  I  knew  pretty  near  where  his  den  was,  and,  to  make  sure  of  him,  built  a 
pen  and  baited  it  with  a  calf.  Sure  enough,  he  got  in,  and  I  had  him  alive. 
A  live  bear,  of  course,  was  a  valuable  animal  in  those  days,  and  he  was  the 
making  of  me  at  that  time.  The  first  thing  I  did,  I  took  him  down  to  the 
settlement,  and  we  had  a  bear-and-bull  fight.  I  charged  a  dollar  a  head  to 
see  it,  and  I  cleared  sixty  dollars.  I  then  sold  the  bear  for  fifty  dollars  in 
gold,  fifty  dollars'  worth  of  provisions,  two  jackasses,  and  a  jenny.  I  loaded 
my  asses  with  the  groceries  and  started  for  the  mines.  I  sold  them  for  a 
greatly  advanced  price,  and  inside  of  three  months  I  had  no  less  than  ten 


40  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

mule  teams  travelling  between  Sacramento  and  the  mines,  making  money 
hand  over  fist,  and  all  started  from  that  one  bear." 

This  story  was  received  with  general  acclamation,  and  other  story-tellers 
attempted  to  show  off  ;  but  when  the  question  of  raising  large  vegetables 
came  up,  he  started  in  to  give  another  one. 

"You  know,"  he  said,  "that  in  the  early  days  the  Sacramento  Valley 
was  the  most  fruitful  part  of  the  whole  State,  and  the  vegetables  and  fruit 
raised  there  were  simply  grand.  Talk  about  pumpkins  in  Connecticut — why, 
they  were  nowhere.  There  was  a  friend  of  mine  who  had  a  farm  outside  of 
the  city.  His  name  was  Jack  Hamilton,  and  he  had  originally  come  from 
New  Hampshire.  He  raised  pumpkins,  and  he  showed  me  some  that  weighed 
over  two  hundred  pounds  apiece.  Well,  one  day  an  old  sow  with  a  litter 
of  pigs  was  missing.  They  looked  all  around  for  them,  but  could  not  find 
hair  nor  hide  of  her  or  the  pigs.  About  a  week  after  the  sow  had  got  lost, 
my  friend  wanted  to  take  one  of  the  pumpkins — of  course,  the  largest  one  of 
the  lot — to  the  county  fair  ;  when,  lo  and  behold,  they  found  that  the  old 
sow  had  eaten  a  hole  into  the  pumpkin,  and  had  lived  for  a  week  with  her 
litter  inside  of  it  on  the  pumpkin  seeds." 

This  was  a  corker.  It  settled  the  question  as  to  the  size  of  pumpkins  on 
the  Pacific  Slope  once  and  for  all.  No  one  could  beat  it,  and  our  meeting 
adjourned  then  and  there  to  the  bar-room,  where  all  of  us  took  one  as  a 
reward  of  merit,  and  then  separated  to  go  to  bed,  which  is  precisely  what  I 
intend  to  do  now. 

So,  good-night. 

XVII. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  April  3,  1893. 

I  HAVE  described  to  you  our  Plaza  a  number  of  times,  I  believe,  and 
have  in  a  general  way  given  you  a  description  of  the  people  who  usually  sit 
around  in  it ;  but  I  will  now  go  a  little  more  into  details. 

In  the  centre  of  the  Plaza  is  the  fountain  with  its  basin  and  its  two  alliga- 
tors. Directly  northwest  of  it  is  a  pavilion  intended  for  the  band  which, 
years  ago,  when  the  "  boom"  was  on,  played  there  daily.  You  may  remem- 
ber that  one  Sunday,  some  weeks  ago,  I  had  to  close  my  letter  to  listen  to  a 
baud  of  Mexican  musicians  who  performed  at  that  time.  It  was  a  string 
band  of  six  pieces  :  two  fiddles,  a  bass-viol,  one  harp,  one  clarionet,  and  a 
trumpet,  and  I  tell  you  the  music  was  not  bad.  The  leader,  a  little  hunch- 
back not  over  four  feet  high,  made  his  violin  "talk," as  my  friend  from 
Delaware  remarked  while  we  sat  on  a  stone  wall  listening. 

The  Plaza  was  crowded  with  people.     The  visitors  from  the  North  and 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


41 


East  furnished  a  large  quota,  but  the  Mexicans  outnumbered  them.  I  saw 
few  Mexican  women,  but  close  to  my  side  was  an  old  sefiora  who  was  all 
attention.  She  was  dressed  in  black,  and  had  a  shawl  thrown  over  her  head 
which  completely  covered  her  face,  so  that  I  could  not  even  get  a  glimpse 
of  it.  I  have  no  doubt,  however,  that  she  was  in  some  way  interested  in  one 
of  the  performers.  Most  of  the  Mexicans  wore  broad-brimmed  hats.  But 
few  were  dressed  in  the  gorgeous  style  described  to  you  in  one  of  my  former 
letters.  Ragged  clothes  and  dirty  blankets  were  in  the  majority,  and  I 
noticed  one  among  the  lot  who  wore  sandals  instead  of  shoes,  and  they  were 
rather  the  worse  for  wear. 

The  music  was  all  new  to  me.     Its  soft  strains  seemed  to  invite  you  to 
have  day-dreams  and  to  conjure  up  long-forgotten  events.     I  stayed  there 


listening  for  hours,  and  then  went  home  filled  with  recollections  of  other 
times  and  other  places.  This  was  the  only  concert  we  had  had,  so  far,  on 
the  Plaza,  but  I  have  listened  to  this  same  band  again  and  again,  and 
with  the  same  pleasure. 

You  see,  the  proprietor  of  the  "  Tepee  "  has  them  engaged  permanently  to 
furnish  music  to  his  customers  in  the  gambling-hall,  where  faro  and  keno 
are  played ;  and  all  you  have  to  do  to  enjoy  divine  music,  is  to  go  into 
the  hall,  sit  down,  and  play  or  order  drinks,  and  you  are  welcome.  The 
house  is  always  crowded,  and  the  business  at  the  bar  and  gaming-tables  is 
flourishing. 

But  to  return  to  my  original  theme  ;  namely,  to  describe  our  Plaza  on  a 


42  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

warm,  sunny  day.  I  will  have  to  introduce  you  to  the  people  who  sit  around 
the  music-stand.  There,  as  in  the  Vendome,  we  have  "regulars  "  and  "  tran- 
sients," and,  of  course,  the  "regulars"  of  the  hotel  are  recognized  as  old 
settlers. 

The  first  figure  I  have  to  introduce  is  "our  Frenchman."  He  has 
travelled  all  over  Europe  and  has  visited  all  the  countries  that  border  on  the 
Mediterranean.  He  knows  Algeria  and  Tunis  as  well  as  you  and  I  know 
New  York  and  Hoboken ;  and  he  can  tell  you  all  about  the  costumes  of 
the  people  of  Asia  Minor,  as  well  as  of  the  people  who  promenade  on  the 
Boulevard  Montmartre  in  Paris.  When  he  starts  in,  every  one  is  all  atten- 
tion. With  the  point  of  his  cane  he  draws  maps  on  the  sand  (or,  as  one  of 
my  friends  put  it,  in  the  bacteria  that  cover  the  ground).  He  knows  all 
the  past  and  present  of  European  politics,  and  lays  down  with  absolute 
certainty  the  future  of  the  European  states.  In  American  matters  he  is 
not  as  well  posted ;  but  we  have  an  Irishman  who  knows  all  about  that. 
While  listening  to  his  dissertations  I  have  often  thought  of  the  old  familiar 
saying,  "  that  it  was  a  pity  that  when  the  Lord  made  this  world  he  did  not 
have  the  advice  of  some  of  the  wise  men  of  the  present  day."  What  a 
paradise  it  would  have  been,  could  he  have  done  so  ! 

Then  we  have  transients  who  have  just  come  from  the  North,  others 
from  the  East,  and  a  good  many  from  New  Mexico  ;  and  the  discussions 
about  the  laws  and  customs  of  the  different  sections  and  countries  are  end- 
less. An  amusing  incident  occurred  the  other  day.  A  late  arrival  from 
Carson  City,  Nevada,  began  to  tell  of  his  experience  in  the  "early  days." 
Our  friend,  the  Californian  pioneer,  interrupted  him.  "Why,  I  was 
sheriff  of  that  county  in  1860,  and  /am  the  man  who  impanelled  the  jury 
and  subpoenaed  the  witnesses  in  that  trial  between  Hyde  and  Morgan  in 
the  '  landslide  case/  tried  by  ex-Governor  Eoop  in  Carson  City."  He 
related  the  story  as  if  he  had  committed  "  Mark  Twain's"  description  to 
memory.  But  he  closed  his  tale  with  the  remark  that  "  Mark  Twain"  had 
him  in  his  picture  of  the  scene.  After  this  evidence  was  in,  there  was 
nothing  more  to  be  said.  I  had  always  looked  upon  that  court  scene  as  one 
of  the  great  author's  finest  efforts  in  inventional  writing,  and  here  in  the 
"  wild  "  West  I  find  the  man  who,  with  one  fell  blow,  destroys  my  fancy. 

What  do  you  think,  however,  when  I  tell  you  that  there  is  a  man  in  Mr. 
Clemens'  picture  of  the  court-room  who  actually  bears  a  slight  resemblance 
to  our  Californian  friend  !  I  know  you  would  not  be  without  a  copy  of 
"  Eoughing  It,"  and  I  therefore  refer  you  to  page  244,  where  you  will  see, 
behind  the  judge's  desk,  a  broad-shouldered  gentleman  with  a  high,  soft- 
crowned  hat — the  sheriff  who  ran  the  court. 

So  it   goes.      All   our  illusions  go  to  pieces  sooner  or  later.      Mark 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  43 

Twain's  "  Koughing  It "  is  removed  from  the  field  of  romance  to  that  of 
history  ;  and  I  think,  whenever  you  wish  to  instruct  the  pupils  in  our 
schools  on  the  history  of  Nevada,  you  should  adopt  it  as  a  text-book. 


XVIII. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  April  4,  1893. 

I  PROMISED  to  show  you  Juarez  in  holiday  attire,  and  I  now  have  an 
opportunity  to  do  so.  It  is  Easter  Sunday,  and,  the  temperature  having 
kept  low,  we  will  take  a  buggy — that  is,  you  and  I,  and  Carl  and  his  friend 
from  England  on  their  ponies  will  serve  as  guides. 

As  I  told  you  before,  there  are  two  bridges  connecting  Juarez  with  El 
Paso,  both  owned  by  the  International  R.R.  Co.,  and  on  both  toll  is  collected. 
This  time,  however,  we  go  over  as  dry-shod  as  the  Jews  did  when  Moses 
led  them  across  the  Red  Sea,  and  it  does  not  cost  us  a  cent.  During  the 
past  two  or  three  weeks  the  Rio  Grande  has  actually  disappeared.  With  the 
exception  of  a  dirty  pool  here  and  there,  there  is  not  a  drop  of  water  in  its 
wide,  sandy  bed,  and  our  enterprising  Mexicans  who  had  started  the  ferry 
are  completely  thrown  out  of  business. 

The  bed  of  the  river  presents  a  desolate  appearance.  Sand,  sand,  and 
nothing  but  sand,  and  it  looks  impossible  that  it  should  ever  be  filled  again. 
Yet  on  the  Mexican  as  well  as  on  the  American  shore  men  are  at  work 
raising  and  securing  the  levees,  to  guard  against  such  freshets  as  have  here- 
tofore overflowed  both  banks  and  shifted  the  bed  of  the  stream  half  a  mile 
over  toward  Mexico. 

We  enter  Juarez  by  the  same  street  on  which  the  horse-cars  go  in,  and 
we  notice  at  once  that  a  great  feast  day  is  about  to  be  celebrated.  On 
all  the  prominent  buildings,  the  custom-house,  post-office,  and  presidio,  as 
well  as  on  many  private  buildings,  the  green,  white,  and  red  flag  of  the 
Republic  is  floating,  and  the  houses  and  stores  are  decorated  with  bunting 
of  the  same  colors.  Over  the  office  of  the  American  consul  floats  the  Stars 
and  Stripes,  and  here  and  there  smaller  flags  indicate  that  the  residents  of 
some  of  the  houses  are  Americans. 

The  inhabitants  are  in  motion  to  reach  the  Plaza,  and  you  see  them 
coming  in  from  the  country  in  wagon  loads,  or  riding  on  horses  and  bur- 
ros. In  not  a  few  cases  a  whole  family  is  on  a  single  horse,  the  woman, 
with  a  child  in  her  arms,  riding  in  front  of  her  husband.  A  great  many  of 
the  men  are  well  dressed,  but  the  everlasting  black  in  the  ladies'  dresses 
becomes  in  time  monotonous.  As  we  pass  on,  nearing  the  Plaza,  the 
crowd  increases,  and  you  now  see  here  and  there  young  women  who  have 


44  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

adopted  the  American  costume,  high-heeled  shoes  and  high-colored  dresses, 
but  very  few  have  any  use  for  spring  bonnets. 

Opposite  one  corner  of  the  Plaza  is  the  establishment  of  Mr.  Duchene, 
a  Swiss  who  served  years  ago  in  the  United  States  regular  army,  married  a 
Mexican,  and  settled  down  as  a  wine-seller.  Here  we  hitch  our  team  and 
the  ponies,  and  are  now  ready  to  view  the  town  at  our  ease. 

The  Plaza  is  decorated  with  flags  and  bunting.  Around  the  pedestal  of 
the  Juarez  monument  Mexican  flags  are  draped  in  an  artistic  manner,  and 
lamp-post,  tree,  and  shrub  are  decorated. 

We  stroll  along  with  the  people  who  are  promenading  on  the  Plaza,  and 
at  last  take  a  seat  facing  the  old  church.  The  Plaza  is  alive  with  strange 
figures.  Sefioritas  in  twos  and  threes  pass  by.  Here  and  there  are  dark 
Indian  faces  alongside  of  pure  white.  The  majority  are  dressed  in  black, 
with  black  shawls  thrown  over  their  heads,  and  rarely  is  a  light  dress  or 
an  American  bonnet  seen. 

The  men,  dressed  in  their  national  costume — some  in  bright  colors, 
others  in  rags — did  not  promenade  with  the  sefioritas,  but  supplied  all  the 
color  there  was  in  this  sombre  picture. 

The  service  in  the  cathedral  had  taken  place  in  the  morning,  so  we  had 
no  opportunity  to  see  it  ;  but  I  must  not  forget  a  visit  during  service  made 
on  the  previous  Thursday. 

The  church  was  filled  then  from  end  to  end  with  women  wrapped  in 
black  shawls,  but  here  and  there  an  American  dress,  and  even  a  bonnet,  was 
seen.  As  we  approached  the  door  we  saw  that  all  were  on  their  knees  facing 
the  altar,  where  eight  or  ten  wax  candles  made  the  darkness  more  visible. 
As  there  were  no  men  in  the  church,  except  those  who  like  statues  stood  on 
the  right  and  left  of  the  altar,  we  soon  withdrew  and  took  seats  on  the 
Plaza,  facing  the  church  ;  and  for  an  hour  the  people  entered  and  left  the 
sanctuary. 

I  had  noticed  on  previous  occasions  that  most  of  the  Mexican  women 
and  girls  were,  on  week  days,  of  a  very  dark  complexion,  and  was  surprised 
that  I  should  see  so  many  much  lighter  faces  on  the  Sundays  I  spent  in 
Juarez  ;  and  I  also  seemed  to  notice  a  change  in  the  looks  of  the  sefioritas 
on  our  side  of  the  river. 

Among  the  ''regulars"  I  have  mentioned  my  friend  the  peach-planter 
from  Delaware.  He  is  looked  upon  by  all  of  us  as  the  best  judge  of  female 
beauty,  having  studied  it  in  all  sections  of  the  country,  and  I  submitted  my 
difficulty  to  him.  "Why,"  he  said,  "don't  you  know  that  the  Mexican 
women  of  the  lower  classes  wash  themselves  every  Sunday  and  feast  day? — so 
that  the  question  resolves  itself  into  a  query  as  to  the  quality  of  the  soap  in 
most  cases.  But  at  times" — and  he  gave  me  a  side  glance  of  his  eyes — "  in 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


45 


addition  to  simply  washing,  I  have  no  doubt  whitewashing  comes  in  also.'' 
Be  that  as  it  may,  after  drinking  a  bottle  of  Mr.  Duchene's  native  Mexican 
wine,  we  started  on  to  see  more  of  the  town  and  its  surroundings. 

The  presidio  is,  next  to  the  custom-house,  the  largest  public  building. 
Like  all  others,  it  is  built  in  the  form  of  a  hollow  square.  It  is  a  handsome 
brick  structure,  and  serves  as  barracks,  hospital,  etc.,  of  a  regiment  of  Mexi- 
can soldiers.  As  we  approached  the  entrance  we  saw,  coming  behind  us, 

two  whole  companies  in  their  gray  summer 
costume,  accompanied  by  two  officers  in  full 
uniform.  It  seems  that  every  Sunday  these 
soldiers  are  given  an  outing,  and  to  make  sure 
that  none  of  them  run  away,  the  first  and  second 
lieutenants  have  to  go  with  them.  The  soldiers 
wi-re  unarmed,  but  each  officer  carried  a  revolver, 
as  did  the  policemen  and  the  custom-house 
officers  we  saw  on  the  border  of  the  Rio  Grande. 
We  asked  permission  to  go  into  the  barracks  ; 
it  was  granted,  and  we  thus  had  an  opportunity 
to  see  the  soldiers  at  home.  The  officers  are 
white  men,  and  in  their  looks  and  actions  re- 
minded me  strongly  of  Frenchmen  ;  and  so  did 
the  soldiers,  in  a  certain  way.  They  were  all 
of  them  broad-shouldered,  healthy-looking  fel- 
lows of  medium  height  and  of  an  exceedingly 
dark  brown  color. 

Entering  through  the  gateway,  where  two 
soldiers  with  Remington  rifles  stood  on  guard, 
we  found  ourselves  in  a 
square  yard  surrounded  by 
buildings  one  story  high, 
and  a  colonnade.  On  the 
right  are  the  barracks 
proper.  A  look  in  showed 
the  knapsacks,  canteens, 
and  fire-arms  systematically  hung  upon  the  wall,  and  the  bedsteads  of  the 
soldiers,  about  two  feet  apart,  extending  along  the  room.  When  I  say 
bedsteads  I  must  give  you  some  description  of  the  piece  of  furniture  meant. 
It  is  simply  a  low  sort  of  table,  six  feet  or  so  in  length,  with  legs  about  six 
inches  higher  on  the  end  next  the  wall  than  on  the  outer  end.  It  is 
certainly  simplicity  itself,  and  it  reminded  me  of  the  carpenter  who  took 
his  nap  during  the  dinner  hour  on  the  soft  side  of  a  plank. 


4:6  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

Opposite  this  room,  across  the  yard,  is  the  hospital,  in  which,  however, 
real  beds  are  furnished  for  the  sick.  The  side  facing  the  entrance  has 
another  dormitory,  which  leads  to  a  yard  where  the  kitchen,  and,  I  think, 
the  lock-up,  is  located.  This  yard  also  contains  the  tanks  that  supply 
water  to  the  garrison.  Every  drop  of  water  has  to  be  pumped  by  hand. 
A  driven  well  at  one  end  of  the  tanks  is  provided  with  a  cast-iron  Yankee 
pump,  which  is  kept  in  operation  by  those  of  the  soldiers  who  have  broken 
some  of  the  rules. 

The  whole  place  is  as  neat  as  a  pin,  and,  all  in  all,  is  a  credit  to  the 
officers  and  men  who  are  quartered  there. 

From  the  presidio  we  go  on  through  some  of  the  best  streets  in  the 
town,  and  also  through  others  most  singular-looking  to  a  stranger.  In  one 
section,  evidently  of  late  construction,  not  one  of  the  adobe  houses  is  plas- 
tered or  whitewashed.  The  streets,  houses,  and  adobe  walls  that  surround 
the  yards  are  of  one  color.  Everything  you  see  is  a  dark  gray,  and  it  is 
difficult  to  distinguish  at  a  short  distance  where  the  street  ends  and  the 
houses  begin.  The  main  streets,  however,  have  a  cheerful  look.  All  the 
houses  are,  at  least  on  the  street  front,  plastered  and  whitewashed  ;  and 
some  walls  are  even  laid  out  in  squares,  to  give  the  appearance  of  stone 
buildings.  Here  we  saw  the  gratings  on  the  windows  referred  to  in  a  former 
letter. 

On  one  occasion  we  saw  two  young  ladies  (they  were  almost  white,  and 
their  beauty  was  only  marred  by  a  little  too  much  mouth,  as  my  friend 
from  Delaware  declared)  looking  through  the  bars  and  smiling  at  the  pass- 
ing "  Gringoes/'  who  returned  their  smiles  with  interest. 

I  suppose  your  Spanish  is,  like  mine,  of  negative  value,  and  I  may  as 
well  tell  you  what  "Gringo"  means.  It  is  a  man  who  speaks  only  an 
incomprehensible  language,  and  every  stranger  who  does  not  speak  Spanish 
is  so  called  here  ;  the  same  as  my  fellow-countrymen,  during  the  "  middle 
ages,"  called  any  one  who  could  not  speak  the  language  of  the  "  Fatherland '' 
a  "  Welschmann." 

After  we  left  the  city  we  came  to  the  real  agricultural  wealth  of  the 
neighborhood.  Every  foot  of  the  ground  is  cultivated.  The  whole  coun- 
try is  intersected  by  irrigating  canals,  which  are  elevated  above  the  sur- 
rounding farm  land,  and  look  like  embankments,  or,  rather,  raised  roadways. 

Grapes,  corn,  wheat,  and  all  kinds  of  fruits  are  grown  here  to  perfec- 
tion. The  farm-houses,  adobe  buildings  in  a  hollow  square,  are  scattered 
all  over  the  country.  What  surprised  me  most  was  a  discovery  I  made 
about  pigeon-houses.  Some  time  ago  I  looked  through  some  books  illus- 
trating the  Egypt  of  the  present  day.  The  villages  of  the  peasantry,  with 
their  flat-roofed  dwellings,  were  just  like  those  of  the  Mexican  peasantry. 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  47 

In  addition  to  this,  the  pigeon-houses  were  similar.  Here  are  real  pigeon- 
houses  built  of  adobe,  three,  four,  and  five  stories  high,  as  they  are  on  the 
Nile  ;  and  it  is  pretty  certain  that  at  the  time  Moses  lay  in  the  bulrushes 
this  was  already  an  old  style. 

Our  trip  into  the  country  brought  us  to  another  adobe  church.  It  was 
not  very  old,  but  it  had  a  most  characteristic  bell-tower.  In  front  of  the 
main  entrance  were  two  posts  planted  about  ten  feet  apart,  each  forked  on 
the  upper  end,  and  a  pole  resting  in  the  forks  completed  the  structure. 
Three  bells  were  suspended  by  chains  from  the  cross-beam  at  the  height  of 
about  six  feet  from  the  ground.  One  of  the  bells  bore  the  date  of  1834 
and  the  others  1854,  showing  that  the  church  is  of  recent  origin. 

Well,  I  think  with  this  last  effort  I  will  close  my  attempt  to  describe 
the  city  and  people  of  Juarez.  The  more  I  write,  the  more  firmly  I 
become  convinced  that  words  are  the  poorest  means  of  expressing  thoughts. 


"What  a  blessing  it  would  be  if  somebody  would  invent  a  machine  to  record 
the  sights  we  see  and  the  impressions  they  make  on  our  minds.  All  would 
be  easy  then,  for  we  could  simply  set  the  recorder  in  motion  and  show 
things  much  better  than  by  clumsy  words. 


XIX. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  April  6,  1893. 

IN  my  last  I  closed  my  studies  of  the  Mexicans,  and  will  now  take  a 
look  at  the  other  fellows.  To  begin  with,  you  will  certainly  expect  me  to 
start  at  the  head.  You  and  I  have  no  doubt  in  our  minds  that  the  school- 
master and  his  superior  officer,  the  trustee,  are  at  the  head,  and  so  we  will 
start  in  by  taking  this  proposition  for  granted. 


48 


LETTERS    FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


I  had  taken  a  look  at  the  high-school,  the  grammar-school,  and  some 
primary  classes,  some  time  ago  ;  but,  owing  to  the  attraction  of  the  other 
pole  (metaphysically  speaking),  I  then  suspended  operations,  and  did  not 
take  up  that  subject  again  until  I  felt  that  I  had  mastered  the  other.  I 
met  the  superintendent  just  as  he  was  mounting  his  horse  to  go  to  the 
negro  school,  which,  under  the  State  laws  of  Texas,  is  an  independent  insti- 
tution. No  white  children  can  go  to  it,  and  no  negro  can  attend  a  white 
school ;  and  yet  I  saw  children  in  the  negro  school  whiter  tlian  you  or  I. 

The  superintendent  is  a  man  of  fifty-five  or  fifty-six  years  of  age.     He 


wears  gold  spectacles,  and,  being  an  Ohio  man,  is  full  of  dignity.  He 
regretted  that  his  horse  could  not  carry  both  of  us,  but  kindly  directed  me 
to  the  negro  school-house,  where  he  met  me  at  the  door. 

This  school-house  is  a  fine-looking  new  brick  building,  with  two  pleasant 
school-rooms  in  which  eighty  or  ninety  pupils  are  instructed.  The  princi- 
pal is  nearly  white,  and  is  assisted  by  a  lady  teacher  of  about  the  same 
color.  Both  hail  from  Rochester,  N.  Y.,  and  when  I  was  introduced  as 
"  Professor "  Eickemeyer  (in  spite  of  my  protest  and  statement  that  I 
was  a  "greasy  mechanic"),  both  seemed  to  look  upon  me  as  a  fellow- 
countryman. 


LETTERS   FROM  THE   SOUTHWEST.  49 

Well,  I  was  invited  to  the  only  chair  in  the  class-room,  which  I  grate- 
fully accepted  on  the  plea  of  being  an  invalid  (which  was,  as  Carl  puts  it,  a 
bluff),  and  the  teacher,  or  professor,  as  the  judge  called  him,  began  to  show 
us  what  his  pupils  could  do.  I  noticed  that  all  of  them,  from  the  primary 
to  the  seventh-year  grade,  were  provided  with  books  more  or  less  the  worse 
for  wear  ;  and  I  saw  none  of  the  appliances  that  are  used  in  the  primary 
grades  of  our  schools,  and  in  the  primary  classes  far  white  children  in  El 
Paso.  He  called  out  the  sixth-year  boys  and  girls,  six  in  number,  and  as 
they  stood  in  a  row  I  had  a  fair  opportunity  to  look  them  over.  On  the 
extreme  left  was  a  tall  boy,  as  black  as  the  ace  of  spades  ;  next  to  him  was 
another,  two  or  three  shades  lighter,  while  the  next  one  would  have  passed 
anywhere  as  a  white  boy.  The  girls  differed  in  size  and  color  as  much  as 
the  boys  ;  one  of  them  had  blue  eyes  and  flaxen  hair.  The  exercises  con- 
sisted of  a  spelling-bee,  such  as  you  can  find,  or  could  find  a  few  years  ago, 
in  the  schools  of  the  city  of  New  York.  The  words  were  read  by  the  pro- 
fessor from  a  text-book  which  the  pupils  had  studied  just  before  they  got 
up,  and  were  of  such  a  character  that  I  felt  sure  not  one  of  them  knew  their 
definitions ;  and  I  know,  had  I  been  put  in  the  row,  I  would  have  got  to  the 
foot  before  the  lesson  was  over.  It  reminded  me  of  the  old  days  when  I 
sa\v  the  pupils  change  places  when  the  one  above  missed. 

He  next  called  out  another  grade,  and  the  same  performance  was  re- 
peated with  slight  variations. 

I  was  then  introduced  to  the  pupils  as  "Professor"  Eickemeyer,  and  was 
requested  to  address  them.  I  did  so,  but  did  not  repeat  the  same  speech 

that  Judge  E s  had  heard  so  many  times  that  he  finally  thought  it  was 

his  own.  Of  course,  I  complimented  them  on  their  acquirements,  and  did 
no  less  for  the  superintendent  and  teachers :  and  I  think  that  Yonkers  ought 
to  be  proud  to  be  represented  in  El  Paso  by  the  most  eloquent  member  of 
its  school-board. 

The  next  performance  was  singing,  and  this  was  really  as  good  as  you 
could  expect.  The  song,  the  national  air  or  anthem  of  Mexico,  was  new  to 
me,  and  there  were  some  very  good  voices.  Then  four  girls  sang  a  song, 
and  the  whole  school  (all  the  pupils  had  been  brought  into  one  room)  sang 
the  chorus.  After  the  singing,  which  I  applauded  heartily,  to  the  great 
enjoyment  of  the  boys  and  girls,  the  superintendent,  at  the  request  of  the 
"professor,"  delivered  an  address.  He  evidently  fired  at  me,  because  I 
think  his  gun  was  elevated  so  high  at  the  muzzle  that  the  spryest  young 
darky  could  hardly  jump  high  enough  to  get  in  range.  He  talked  for  at 
least  half  an  hour,  and  as  I  had  to  stand  up  in  honor  of  the  occasion,  I  felt 
about  tired  out  ;  but  in  acknowledgment  of  the  treat  I  had  to  sail  in  again 
and  express  my  thanks.  I  am  invited  to  meet  the  judge  at  the  Spanish 
4 


50  LETTERS  FKOM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

school  next,  and  will  report  in  due  time  what  I  see,  hear,  and,  least  and  last, 
what  I  say  myself. 

P.S. — You  see,  the  judge  talked  as  if  every  little  darky  intended  to  be 
elected  President  of  the  United  States  at  some  future  time. 


XX. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  April  9,  1893. 

I  HAVE  now  spent  over  two  months  in  El  Paso,  and  have,  in  a  measure, 
familiarized  myself  with  it  and  its  surroundings. 

When  I  came  here  the  Rio  Grande  contained  at  least  some  water,  but 
all  has  now  disappeared  ;  and  even  the  irrigating  canals  are  nearly  empty, 
although  fed  by  a  reservoir  located  some  miles  above.  The  rainfall  here  is 
insignificant,  as  any  one  would  expect  when  they  consider  that  the  humidity 
is  almost  nil.  To  prevent  evaporation,  or  at  least  to  reduce  it  to  a  minimum, 
the  canals  are  made  narrow  and  deep,  and  even  the  ditches  in  the  fields 
are  dug  deep  and  narrow,  to  present  as  little  surface  to  the  dry  air  as 
possible. 

When  trees  or  shrubs  are  to  be  irrigated,  deep  trenches,  or  rather  pits, 
are  made  around  them,  and  these  are  filled  with  water.  Even  when  the 
grass-plot  is  to  be  watered  it  is  not  sprinkled  as  in  our  neighborhood  ;  the 
water  is  run  on  in  a  heavy  stream,  which  is  absorbed  by  the  loose  soil  as  fast 
as  it  comes. 

Land  that  has  no  water-supply  is  almost  worthless  ;  but  whenever  water 
is  supplied,  either  artificially  or  by  nature,  it  produces  all  the  fruits  of  the 
temperate  and  semi-tropical  zones.  The  first  requirement  for  starting  or 
running  a  cattle  or  horse  ranch  is  water.  Stock  will  not,  I  am  told,  stray 
more  than  twenty  miles  from  the  spring  or  brook  which  furnishes  their 
supply,  so  that  the  cow-boy,  or,  as  lie  is  called  here,  the  cow-puncher,  is  sure 
that  he  has  gathered  in  or  rounded  up  all  the  cattle  on  a  given  range  when 
he  has  described  a  circle  with  a  radius  of  twenty  miles  around  his  spring, 
gradually  reducing  the  diameter  until  his  herd  is  safely  collected  in  the 
corral. 

But  it  is  of  equal  importance  to  the  cow-boy  to  have  a  supply  of  fluid 
to  irrigate  the  inner  man,  and  this  has  started  me  on  a  train  of  thought 
which,  I  think,  deserves  to  be  followed.  Up  to  the  present  time  I  have 
not  had  the  pleasure  of  studying  the  ''ranchmen,"  except  as  I  saw  them 
herein  the  "corral,"  when  they  came  in  for  supplies.  I  always  noticed 
that  when  they  arrived,  and  the  horses  and  mules  had  been  taken  care  of, 
the  first  thing  they  did  was  to  irrigate.  I  have  described  at  length  the 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  51 

various  institutions  where  supplies  of  the  nature  in  question  are  fur- 
nished, and  it  was  an  interesting  problem  to  me  what  fluid  these  hardy 
men  would  select  to  quench  their  thirst.  One  would  have  thought  that 
men  who  had  just  travelled  thirty-five  or  more  miles  over  a  desert  plain, 
would  fall  to  and  drink  water  by  the  pailful  ;  but  no,  nothing  of  the  kind. 
Water  is  the  last  thing  they  seem  to  hanker  after.  A  stiff  glass  of  some 
kind  of  fire-water  is  always  sent  ahead,  and  a  few  drops  of  water  are  used 
to  wash  it  down  afterward,  more  as  a  preparation,  I  think,  to  clear  the 
passage  for  the  next  drink  than  to  relieve  the  thirst. 

Then,  again,  I  have  observed  that  when  the  ranchman  returns  he  always 
carries  some  demijohns  as  a  supply  for  himself,  but  never  any  water  that  I 
could  see.  That  a  visit  to  El  Paso  is  an  important  event  you  may  be  sure. 
It  is  never  undertaken  unless  supplies  are  needed  badly.  On  all  ranches 
they  always  have  fresh  meat  on  hand,  and  on  many  even  fresh  eggs  ;  also 
Mexican  beans — I  think  they  call  t\\ero.frijoles — which  grow  almost  every- 
where. Taking  all  this  into  account,  I  reached  the  conclusion  that  the 
refilling  of  the  demijohns  is  the  principal  object  of  the  trip.  I  am 
strengthened  in  this  opinion  by  another  observation.  To  quench  their 
thirst  when  they  arrive  here  usually  takes  some  days,  showing  conclusively 
that  a  drought  had  preceded  their  coming ;  and  I  know  of  a  case  when  the 
return  trip  to  the  range  was  delayed  for  two  days,  to  allow  the  company  to 
pull  itself  together. 

But  let  us  go  a  little  farther  into  this  interesting  question.  That  a 
ranchman,  whose  drinking-water  is  always  more  or  less  alkaline  in  its 
nature,  should  want  to  put  a  stick  in  it,  does  not  seem  on  the  whole  very 
strange ;  but  how  can  we  account  for  the  methods  of  irrigation  of  people 
who  have  no  such  adverse  circumstances  to  contend  with  ?  No  wonder  that 
mail  and  beast  have  to  irrigate  in  a  climate  like  this  of  Western  Texas  ;  but 
how  can  we  account  for  the  phenomenon  in  countries  where  the  hygro- 
meter shows  ninety  to  one  hundred  degrees  of  humidity  ?  I  feel  that  I 
made  a  great  mistake  that  I  did  not  come  here  years  ago. 

Suppose  the  irrigation  problem,  as  far  as  the  human  species  is  concerned, 
was  regulated  or  influenced  by  general  humidity.  What  valuable  conclu- 
sions could  I  not  have  drawn  during  my  life,  and  especially  during  my  travels, 
where  I  had  ample  opportunities  to  study  the  drinks  of  almost  all  nations  ! 
Think  of  it :  if  I  had  taken  as  a  starting  point  all  the  mixtures  in  use  in  this 
climate,  where  humidity  is  nil,  and,  while  watching  the  humidity  of  other 
lands,  studied  their  drinks,  I  might  have  solved  the  question  why  the  Eng- 
lishman takes  his  Scotch  whiskey  with  soda,  while  the  Scotchman  takes  it 
straight ;  why  the  South-German  takes  his  morning  drink  in  the  beer-house 
and  winds  up  late  at  night  with  a  bottle  of  wine  and  a  cup  of  black  coffee, 


52  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

while  to  the  North-German  a  glass  of  schnapps  serves  as  his  morning  drink 
and  his  night- cap. 

Then,  again,  it  might  solve  the  problem  why  Medford  rum  holds  its  own 
in  New  England,  while  Blue  Grass  whiskey  is  marching  victoriously  through 
the  Middle  States.  You  see,  the  problem  is  a  great  one  ;  but,  alas  !  I  am  not 
in  it.  I  began  at  the  wrong  end.  Yet  I  am  sure  that  the  suggestion  is  a 
good  one,  and  if  some  clear-headed  thinker  would  take  it  up  properly,  he 
could  solve  one  of  the  greatest  sociological  questions  for  the  benefit  of 
humanity. 

XXI. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  April  10,  1893. 

I  HAVE  just  learned  something,  and  as  I  have  a  few  minutes  and  nothing 
particular  to  do  (being,  as  it  were,  between  drinks),  I  will  have  to  tell  it  to 
you  while  it  is  fresh  in  my  mind.  Here,  as  all  over  the  States  south  of 
Mason  and  Dixon's  line,  we  have  two  kinds  of  Grand  Army  posts,  the 
"  Gray  "  and  the  "Blue/'  There  has  been  a  great  deal  said  about  shaking 
hands  over  the  bloody  chasm  ;  and  the  incident  I  have  to  relate  will  show 
you  that  there  is  a  good  deal  of  fiction  in  some  of  these  stories.  But,  to 
get  to  my  tale. 

Both  Grand  Army  posts  have  their  "  camp-fires/'  as  they  call  them  ; 
that  is,  they  light  their  pipes,  sit  around  and  tell  stories,  and,  as  I  am 
informed,  irrigate,  to  enliven  the  company. 

It  so  happened  that  the  two  posts  lighted  their  camp-fires  on  the  same 
evening  last  week.  The  "blues"  were  peacefully  sitting  around,  telling 
stories  of  Sheridan's  ride,  and  other  equally  well-authenticated  stories  of 
the  civil  war,  when,  lo  and  behold,  a  squad  of  rebels  appeared  at  the  door, 
took  the  doorkeeper  or  sentry  prisoner,  conquered  the  assembled  braves,  and 
marched  every  man  of  them  as  prisoners  to  the  Confederate  headquarters. 

Here  a  court-martial  was  formed,  and  the  poor,  helpless  captives  were 
condemned  to  smoke  Confederate  tobacco  out  of  corn-cob  pipes,  to  drink 
Confederate  whiskey,  and  to  eat  Confederate  beans  (not  the  mild  kind  so 
well  known  as  "  Boston  baked  beans,"  but  that  horrid  species  known 
around  here  as  the  Mexican  black  bean,  orfrijole,  seasoned  with  red  pepper 
to  such  an  extent  that  the  poor  victim  has  to  keep  drinking  in  sheer  self- 
defence).  The  "rebels "kept  their  prisoners  till  the  small  hours  of  the 
morning,  and  then  dismissed  them,  singing  "  Dixie."  You  may  imagine 
how  our  brave  boys  in  blue  felt  under  this  treatment.  They  were  outraged, 
and  I  have  learned  from  good  authority  that  they  have  sworn  to  take 
revenge  on  the  "  rebel "  crew. 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  53 

All  the  "blues"  in  the  State,  or  rather  county,  are  to  be  called  in  at 
the  next  camp-fire,  to  make  sure  that  no  "  rebel"  will  escape.  But,  I  beg 
of  you,  don't  tell  anybody  of  this  part  of  the  conspiracy,  because  the 
"rebels"  might  hear  of  it  and  get  scared  and  decamp. 

The  proposition  is  to  retaliate  in  kind,  and  go  them  one  better.  A  reso- 
lution was  passed  unanimously,  that  no  "rebel"  should  escape  "till  day- 
light does  appear/' 

Now  talk  about  relegating  the  "  bloody  shirt"  to  the  relics  of  the  past. 
You  see  the  "  rebels  "  flaunt  it  still  in  the  faces  of  the  Union  men,  and  it 
looks  to  me  as  if  the  "  Sons  of  the  Veterans,"  even,  will  be  in  honor  bound 
to  act  as  their  fathers  do  in  the  sunny  South. 

P.S. — I  forgot  to  mention  that  the  boys  propose  to  sing  "John  Brown's 
body  lies  a-mouldering  in  the  grave." 


XXII. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  April  10,  1893. 

THE  last  week  or  two  I  devoted  to  a  study  of  the  other  El  Paso,  and  I 
find  that  there  is  hardly  anything  to  mention.  Of  the  churches  I  can  say 
that  they  are  like  those  at  home — services  twice  every  Sunday,  and  Sunday- 
schools  in  all  of  them.  Even  the  church  sociables  are  on  the  same  general 
plan,  as  I  have  learned  from  my  friend  the  "  parson,"  who  attended  no  less 
than  three  last  week,  in  all  of  which  ice-cream  and  cake  were  served  at  the 
close.  So  you  see  I  may  as  well  make  my  studies  when  1  get  home,  and 
compete  for  the  gold  prizes  offered  by  the  Statesman  to  encourage  home 
literature  and  improvement.  And  I  now  feel  well  posted  in  such  studies. 
I  could  start  in  witli  the  Italians  behind  my  house,  and  study  the  manner 
of  living  of  the  Lazaroni  of  Naples  and  Southern  Italy.  Then  I  could  step 
over  to  the  Greek-Catholic  church  and  learn  all  about  the  habits  and  customs 
of  the  inhabitants  of  the  Danubian  states.  The  old  Teutonia  Hall  would 
furnish  any  number  of  pictures  of  the  Hebrews  who  have  been  driven  out 
of  Russia  and  Poland  by  the  Czar.  And  the  new  Teutonia  Hall  would 
supply  the  modern  Teuton  in  all  his  glory.  If  I  then  took  the  health  officer 
as  my  mentor  and  guide,  and  travelled  with  him  once  more,  as  I  have  many 
times  before,  I  would  have  a  field  for  my  studies  as  varied  as  that  I  find  here. 

The  great  trouble,  however,  would  be  that  I  would  have  to  put  on  green 
spectacles  so  as  not  to  see  all  the  things  I  could  see  and  describe.  As  I 
intend  to  stay  in  Yonkers  for  some  time  to  come,  my  pen-pictures  might  get 
me  into  trouble.  So,  come  to  think  of  it,  I  will  confine  my  literary  efforts 
to  subjects  away  from  home  and  not  try  to  win  the  "  gold  prize." 


54  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

To-morrow  there  is  an  election  here  for  city  officers — mayor  and  alder- 
men— and  if  you  read  the  editorials  of  the  El  Paso  "dailies,"  and  compared 
them  with  those  I  read  a  week  or  so  ago  in  the  Yonkers  papers,  they  are  as 
like  each  other  as  two  peas.  One  candidate  represents  a  ring  ;  the  other 
wants  the  office  for  personal  reasons.  But  what  amused  me  most  was  that 
one  of  the  candidates  who  was  nominated  withdrew  because  his  employers 
objected  to  his  running.  Well,  our  Yonkers  boy  bad  spunk  enough  to  run, 
and  I  glory  in  it  and  am  glad  of  his  success. 

Then  there  is  the  water-supply  question,  which  is,  of  course,  a  very 
important  one ;  and  the  discussions  you  hear  about  it  remind  me  of 
Yonkers  twenty  years  ago,  when  some  of  our  "  best  "  citizens  (Statesman) 
held  indignation  meetings,  and  some  of  my  friends  covered  themselves  with 
glory  by  shaking  bottles  filled  with  dirty  water  in  the  faces  of  those  stupid 
water  commissioners  who,  after  three  years'  investigation,  did  not  know  as 
much  as  the  gentlemen  who  had  simply  looked  at  the  problem  from  their 
high  scientific  standpoint. 

It  cost  the  city  of  Yonkers  a  good  many  thousand  dollars  to  convince 
our  "  best  citizens  "  that  they  knew  nothing,  and  I  fear  El  Paso  will  also 
have  to  pay  a  nice  penny  before  the  wise  men  will  learn  the  same  lesson. 
So  you  see,  even  in  this  line  I  have  nothing  to  write,  because  you  can  read 
the  whole  of  it  in  the  Statesman  and  Gazette  of  twenty  years  ago.  And 
there  you  can  find  all  the  points  fully  elaborated,  signed,  sealed,  and  deliv- 
ered by  the  heroes  themselves. 

But  I  must  not  forget  a  monument  that  is  the  glory  of  Mesa  Garden. 
Fifteen  years  or  so  ago,  by  a  lucky  accident  some  genius  discovered  in  Car- 
diff, N.  Y.,  the  well-known  Cardiff  giant.  It  was  the  wonder  of  the  day; 
all  the  papers  were  full  of  it,  and  the  illustrated  papers  contained  large 
wood-cuts.  A  heated  discussion  was  carried  on  as  to  its  origin  ;  but  it  was 
finally  decided  to  be  of  that  class  of  bug  that  Professor  Agassiz  classed  as 
humbug. 

Imagine  my  surprise  and  pleasure  when  I  found  myself  face  to  face 
with  this  celebrated  "giant."  It  seems  that  when  its  usefulness  as  a  catch- 
penny had  departed,  an  enterprising  showman  loaded  it  on  a  car  to  send  it 
by  way  of  El  Paso  to  Mexico,  to  fleece  the  "  Greasers."  He  was  unfortunate, 
however.  While  trans-shipping  it  from  one  car  to  another,  the  baggage 
smashers  handled  the  box  in  the  same  way  they  handle  Saratoga  trunks, 
and  the  result  was  bad.  Both  legs  of  the  "giant"  were  broken,  and  the 
skeleton  appeared  in  plain  sight.  Two  bars  of  iron  an  inch  square  had 
formed  the  thigh  and  shin  bones;  this  at  once  destroyed  its  use  as  an  ossi- 
fied man.  After  some  time,  the  railroad  company  presented  the  mutilated 
relic  to  the  owner  of  the  Mesa  Garden,  where  the  "  giant "  now  rests  in  peace. 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  55 

Some  other  things  differ  slightly  from  what  we  are  in  the  habit  of  seeing 
at  home.  El  Paso  County  has  an  excellent  court-house.  It  is  erected  in 
the  centre  of  a  square,  with  galleries  on  all  sides,  square  towers  on  the 
corners,  and  a  central  tower,  with  a  flight  of  stairs  to  the  top,  lighted  by 
circular  openings,  and  surrounded  by  handsome  railings  which  extend  to 
the  top  floor,  forming  a  dome-shaped  centre  in  the  building.  The  court- 
house has  four  entrances,  and,  what  is  most  appropriate,  over  each  entrance 
is  a  Goddess  of  Justice,  blindfolded  and  holding  u  balance,  indicating  that 
at  least  four  kinds  of  justice  are  administered  in  the  edifice. 

The  court-room; •?.  and  those  of  the  county  officers,  are  comfortable  and 
well  lighted,  and,  what  is  more,  they  are  all  well  furnished.  Some  time  ago 
I  visited  this  court-house  to  take  a  view  of  the  city  from  the  tower,  and,  as 
the  court  was  in  session,  I  took  a  seat  and  listened  to  the  proceedings. 

It  was  a  jury  trial,  and  the  case  had  some  novel  features.  It  seems  that 
a  Mr.  Roe  had  deposited  in  a  certain  bank  five  hundred  dollars,  and  had 
taken  a  cashier's  check  for  the  amount.  Some  time  later  he  stopped  pay- 
ment. The  check  was  presented  at  another  bank,  properly  indorsed  by 
one  of  the  owners  of  a  gambling  establishment,  and  it  was  cashed.  When 
presented  later  to  the  first  bank,  payment  was  refused,  and  suit  was  brought 
to  compel  payment.  The  case  was  decided  in  favor  of  the  plaintiff,  on  the 
ground  of  innocent  Imldi'r. 

The  proceedings  were  carried  on  in  the  usual  way.  but  all  the  lawyers 
and  the  jurymen  in  the  box  smoked  pipes  and  cigars.  The  judge,  the  wit- 
ness on  the  stand,  and  the  lawyer  who  had  the  witness  in  hand  were  the 
only  persons  inside  of  the  railing  who  did  not  smoke.  Well,  different 
countries,  different  fashions.  So  it  goes. 

Three  weeks  ago  our  Plaz;;  was  as  gray  as  all  the  country  around ;  but 
about  that  time  the  work  to  put  it  in  shape  began,  and  the  first  thing  done 
was  to  clean  the  grass-plots  of  the  sand  and  dust  that  the  winter  winds  had 
deposited.  A  number  of  industrious  Mexicans  went  to  work  with  brooms 
to  sweep  the  grass,  in  the  same  manner  that  our  good  housewives  sweep  the 
carpets.  After  considerable  effort  the  blades  of  grass  came  to  the  surface. 
Water  was  then  put  on  in  streams,  and  to-day  the  grass  is  as  green  as  on  a 
well-kept  lawn.  The  trees  are  in  leaf,  and  the  rose-bushes  that  surround 
the  basin  are  in  full  bloom.  The  change  was  so  rapid  that  it  seemed  MS  if 
you  could  see  the  grass  grow. 

Birds  are  very  rare.  In  fact,  I  have  seen  none  except  a  kind  of  red- 
breasted  sparrow — the  Mexican  sparrow,  I  am  told  ;  but  even  these  are  few 
and  far  between.  I  wonder  why  some  of  the  people  up  North  who  hate 
the  English  sparrow  so  much,  don't  catch  them  and  send  them  down  here 
where  they  would  be  welcome. 


56  LETTERS    FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

I  have  one  more  important  person  to  mention,  and  then  I  will  close  to 
my  satisfaction,  and,  I  have  no  doubt,  to  yours.  You  have  probably  heard 
of  the  representative  from  Texas  at  the  Eepublican  nominating  convention  a 
year  ago,  who,  when  asked  about  offices,  remarked  :  "What  are  we  here  for 
if  not  for  the  offices  ?  "  This  gentleman  of  national  fame  is  a  resident  of  El 
Paso.  He  is  in  charge  of  Uncle  Sam's  custom-house,  and  I  saw  him  at  the 
time  I  lost  that  half-dollar  at  the  cock-fight  in  Juarez. 

P.S. — The  Democratic  papers  here  call  him,  "  What-are-we-bere-for 
F n." 

XXIII. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  April  11,  1893. 

I  LANDED  here  in  El  Paso  on  the  first  of  February  last,  and  the  first 
time  I  got  beyond  the  Plaza  in  front  of  the  hotel  was  on  the  twenty-second 
of  that  month. 

Besides  the  Plaza,  El  Paso  has  a  park  about  two  miles  from  the  centre 
of  the  city.  It  was  formerly  owned  by  the  El  Paso  Jockey  Club,  which 
flourished  during  the  "boom" — up  to  1888.  When  the  "boom"  subsided 
the  Jockey  Club  did  the  same,  and  the  city  purchased  the  property  for  use 
as  a  public  park. 

Texas,  like  all  other  States,  has  its  Arbor  Day,  and  the  governor  selected 
as  the  Arbor  Day  for  1893,  the  twenty-second  of  February.  The  selection 
of  Washington's  Birthday  was  a  happy  one.  The  aldermen  provided  two 
hundred  young  trees  to  be  planted.  The  McGinty  Band  was  engaged  to 
furnish  the  music,  and,  after  a  prayer  by  one  of  the  leading  clergymen,  a 
patriotic  speech  was  made  by  one  of  the  leading  lawyers,  and  the  whole 
audience  then  adjourned  to  see  the  trees  planted  in  holes  already  prepared 
by  some  Mexican  laborers. 

As  stated  above,  the  park  is  two  miles  or  thereabouts  from  the  centre 
of  the  town,  and  a  few  hundred  feet  from  the  tracks  of  the  Southern  Pacific 
Railroad.  The  manager  of  the  road  put  two  trains  of  five  cars  each  at  the 
disposal  of  the  aldermen,  and  gave  all  those  who  wished  to  go  a  free  ride 
to  and  from  the  park.  This  liberality  was  highly  appreciated  by  the  people 
of  the  city  and  the  visitors.  It  looked  as  if  all  the  churches,  the  schools, 
and  the  Sunday-schools  were  going  on  a  picnic,  and  the  crowd  looked  and 
acted  exactly  as  a  crowd  would  gathered  up  at  home. 

Few  Mexicans  were  among  the  excursionists,  although  fully  one-third  of 
the  inhabitants  are  of  that  nationality.  The  trains  stopped  near  the  gate 
of  the  park,  and  the  visitors  soon  filled  the  grand  stand.  But  the  visitors 
by  rail  were  not  the  only  ones.  Dozens  of  carriages  and  buggies  brought 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


57 


ladies  and  gentlemen.  But  the  small  boy  on  the  "burro"  (donkey)  cut  the 
chief  figure  on  the  race-course.  Everybody  here  rides  on  horseback,  and  a 
good  many  young  men  in  Mexican  saddles  paraded  about,  at  times  starting 
around  the  track  on  impromptu  races.  But  in  spite  of  that  the  small  boy 
had  it  all  to  himself.  Most  of  the  wood  used  is  brought  into  town  on 
burros,  and  these  animals  are  more  numerous  than  goats  on  Hog  Hill.  The 
only  bridle  used  by  the  boys  was  an  old  rope  wound  around  the  burro's 
nose  ;  and  as  to  the  saddle,  why  that  is  unknown  in  burro  riding  by  boys. 
It  was  a  lively  picture  when  the  cavalcade  began  to  come  in.  Some 
youngster  would  ride,  sitting  as  close  to  the  head  of  the  animal  as  he  could, 


while  the  next  one  preferred  a  seat  near  the  tail ;  and  other  burros  caine  in 
having  two  and  even  three  riders  on  board.  Now,  a  burro  at  times  has  his 
own  views  in  regard  to  the  direction  in  and  the  speed  at  which  he  wants  to 
go,  and  as  these  may  differ  from  those  of  the  rider,  a  contest  is  .often  the 
result.  It  is  highly  amusing  to  see  the  amount  of  exercise  he  can  furnish 
the  small  boy.  To  keep  his  animal  in  motion  the  boy  has  to  use  all  the 
energy  stored  in  his  hands  and  heels,  and  even  then  the  burro  often  goes 
his  own  way,  after  gracefully  shooting  his  rider  over  his  head. 

When  the  whole  audience  had  arrived  and  all  were  comfortably  seated, 
the  exercises  began  with  music  by  the  band,  followed  by  prayer ;  then  came 
the  oration.  I  listened  with  a  great  deal  of  interest  to  the  speech,  which 


58  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

was  patriotic  and  thoroughly  American  ;  yet  I  must  own  to  some  surprise 
when  the  speaker,  in  the  course  of  his  remarks,  told  his  hearers  that  our 
free  institutions  had  been  brought  over  by  the  Pilgrim  Fathers,  had  been 
maintained  by  the  Fathers  of  the  Eepublic,  and  that  it  was  the  duty  of.  the 
children  to  preserve  our  freedom  and  deliver  it  to  the  future  generation.  I 
had  not  expected  that  an  orator  in  Texas  in  1893  would  claim  the  Pilgrim 
Fathers  as  the  founders  of  our  free  institutions.  Yet  it  was  not,  after  all, 
more  of  a  surprise  than  the  one  I  had  in  1886,  when  a  member  of  the  Eng- 
lish Parliament  showed  me  over  the  Houses  of  Parliament  in  London. 
After  we  had  visited  the  House  of  Commons — or,  more  properly  speaking, 
the  hall  in  which  the  sittings  take  place  (as  the  House  was  not  in  session)— 
and  while  going  to  the  House  of  Lords,  we  passed  through  a  long  hall, 
decorated  on  both  sides  with  fresco  paintings  representing  events  in  English 
history,  one  of  which  represented  the  embarkation  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers 
on  the  Mayflower. 

My  friend  had  called  my  attention  to  the  picture,  and  when  I  saw  it  the 
thought  came  into  my  mind  that  it  would  not  take  many  more  generations 
before  the  English  would  claim  George  Washington  as  one  of  the  greatest 
Englishmen  that  ever  lived;  and  my  conductor,  with  a  smile,  assented 
to  my  suggestion. 

The  planting  of  the  trees  took  quite  some  time,  but  a  jack-rabbit  fur- 
nished diversion  for  the  small  boy  and  the  dogs.  The  poor  fellow  had  been 
surprised  near  the  grand-stand,  and  began  to  make  his  way  in  big  leaps 
toward  the  fence.  A  whole  drove  of  youngsters  with  a  dozen  or  more  of 
dogs  took  up  the  chase  ;  but,  fortunately  for  the  rabbit,  the  fence  was  not 
rabbit-tight,  though  it  was  an  effectual  barrier  for  boys  and  dogs,  so  the 
rabbit  escaped,  thoroughly  scared,  no  doubt. 

The  return  train  came  in  sight  at  about  sunset,  and  all  got  safely  home, 
having  enjoyed  a  summer  day  on  the  twenty-second  of  February. 

The  Stars  and  Stripes  waved  over  all  public  and  many  private  buildings, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  suggest  that  twenty-five  short  years  ago  the 
Texas  Rangers  stood  in  the  line  of  the  Confederates,  fighting  under  Lee  in 
defense  of  Richmond. 

XXIV. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  April  11,  1893. 

THE  reason  why  I  have  been  so  very  industrious  lately  in  writing  letters 
about  El  Paso  is  that  El  Paso  has,  among  other  things,  some  climate  after 
all.  About  a  week  ago  a  season  of  blow  set  in,  which,  with  more  or  less 
force,  shifted  the  sands  of  the  prairie  all  over  the  city.  At  times,  especially 


LETTERS    FROM    THE    SOUTHWEST.  59 

on  Thursday  List,  the  wind  blew  a  perfect  gale  of  forty  miles  an  hour  for 
five  hours,  as  I  learned  from  the  weather  clerk,  whose  roost  is  almost  oppo- 
site the  hotel.  The  wind-gauge,  a  sort  of  whirligig,  is  a  very  interesting 
sight,  and  I  have  watched  it  with  a  great  deal  of  attention.  It  can  serve 
as  a  thermometer  as  well.  When  the  breeze  is  light  and  the  direction  is 
east,  the  temperature  is  low  and  from  sixty-five  to  seventy-five  degrees  in, 
the  shade  ;  when  from  the  west,  the  temperature  rises  from  seventy -five  or 
eighty  degrees  to  ninety  degrees  or  over.  Now,  the  gale  we  have  had  came 
from  the  west,  and  the  air  being  filled  with  dust  and  sand,  I  think  I  have 
a  good  conception  of  what  a  simoom  in  the  Sahara  may  be  like.  The  tem- 
perature of  the  moving  air  was  above  eighty  degrees,  and  filled  with  sand 
and  dust  so  that  I  could  hardly  see  across  the  street,  and  it  felt  when  I 
opened  the  window  as  if  it  came  from  a  hot  oven.  The  Plaza  was  de- 
srrted  for  two  or  three  days;  but  the  wind  generally  subsided  when  the 
sun  went  down,  so  that  the  evenings  and  nights  were  cool  and  pleasant. 
But  you  must  not  forget  that  when  the  temperature  gets  below  seventy 
di-grees  in  this  dry  atmosphere  it  is  as  cool  as  it  is  in  Yonkers  at  sixty 
degrees,  or  even  less. 

Then,  my  stay  here  is  drawing  to  a  close,  and  I  want  to  get  over  my  self- 
imposed  task.  I  hold  you,  however,  responsible  for  ail  these  letters.  Your 
remark  about  the  scarcity  of  water  here  started  the  whole  of  it,  and  after  a 
while  I  In-iran  to  like  the  task,  and  I  think  writing  these  letters  to  you  has 
been  as  good  a  cure  for  my  mind  as  the  air  has  been  for  my  body.  I  had 
to  look  sharp  to  be  able  to  describe  things,  and  then  these  studies  put  every- 
thing else  out  of  my  head,  giving  me,  as  it  were,  a  vacation  from  all  other 
thoughts  and  worries. 

Next  week  I  shall  be  in  Santa  Fe.  But  I  doubt  whether  I  shall  continue 
in  this  line.  You  know  that  Mr.  Deming,  my  nephew,  has  an  atelier  there 
and  paints  pictures  ;  and  I  am  strongly  inclined  to  exchange  the  pen  for 
the  brush,  and  bring  home  such  a  work  of  art  in  landscape  painting  as  no 
one  has  ever  seen,  or  wanted  to  see  ! 

I  may  send  you  a  report  on  the  election,  which  takes  place  to-day,  if  it 
continues  to  be  windy,  but,  otherwise,  I  think  the  present  letter  will  close  the 
"'  Mysteries  of  El  Paso." 

XXV. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  April  12,  1893. 

WELL,  the  whirligig  on  the  weather  clerk's  roost  rotates  at  a  good  speed 
and  the  winds  blow  as  before,  but  not  anything  like  the  whirlwinds  that 
excited  the  legal  and  illegal  voters  of  El  Paso  yesterday. 


60  LETTERS   FROM  THE   SOUTHWEST. 

In  El  Paso,  as  elsewhere  in  this  glorious  country,  the  "best  citizens" 
(as  the  Statesman  usually  calls  them)  at  times  take  it  into  their  heads 
to  come  to  the  front.  You  are  sure  to  know  them  when  you  see  them. 
All  the  year  round  they  find  fault  with  what  others  do.  They  never  take 
any  interest  in  public  affairs  except  to  find  fault  and  to  scold,  and  they  feel 
rather  above  the  common  herd  who  vote  and  take  an  interest  in  the  man- 
agement of  the  city  business.  These  gentlemen,  with  a  flourish  of  trumpets, 
got  up  a  citizens  and  taxpayers'  party,  held  public  meetings  in  the  court- 
house (which  is  used  here  for  all  sorts  of  entertainments,  as  well  as  for 
political  meetings),  and  nominated  a  citizens'  ticket.  The  Republicans, 
who  are  in  the  minority,  did  not  make  any  nominations,  but  did  not  indorse 
the  citizens'  ticket  either. 

Yesterday  the  battle  was  fought.  It  was  a  bad  day;  the  sand  filled  the 
air  from  morning  till  the  polls  closed,  furnishing  a  good  excuse  for  the 
"best  citizens  "  to  stay  at  home,  and  the  result  was  as  usual  in  sucli  cases. 
The  "straights"  carried  the  election  by  a  majority  of  over  five  hundred  out 
of  a  vote  of  a  little  more  than  sixteen  hundred,  and  the  ticket,  composed  of 
pirates  and  blacklegs  (as  the  "  best  citizens"  assured  the  voters  they  were), 
was  successful. 

In  this  neighborhood  the  Mexicans  are  the  unknown  quantity.  Out  of 
sixteen  hundred  voters,  about  five  hundred  are  Mexicans,  and,  of  course, 
these  were  all  bought  by  the  "  straights."  The  "  best  citizens  "  were  alto- 
gether too  good  to  do  anything  to  get  any  Mexican  votes,  and  even  the  few 
negroes  were  inveigled  into  voting  the  straight  Democratic  ticket.  So  it 
goes  ;  but  as  virtue  is  said  to  be  its  own  reward,  I  hope  the  "best  citizens" 
feel  entirely  satisfied  with  the  result. 

Unbiassed  observers  told  me  before  the  election  that  both  tickets  con- 
tained the  names  of  representative  citizens,  and  that  both  candidates  for 
mayor  would  make  excellent  officers. 

I  have,  however,  one  more  observation  to  make ;  namely,  that  not  a 
solitary  rum-shop  keeper  was  on  either  ticket,  and  none  has  ever  been  elected 
as  a  city  official  in  this  place.  The  bar-rooms  were  absolutely  closed,  and,  as 
the  daily  paper  says,  not  even  the  river  furnished  an  opportunity  to  irrigate. 

In  spite  of  these  precautions,  they  had  a  lively  time  in  what  is  called  the 
"  bloody  Second."  Two  officers,  a  "  regular  "  and  a  "  special,"  got  into  an 
argument  about  a  Mexican  who  was  to  be  voted  for  one  of  the  tickets,  and 
both  being  well  armed — the  "special"  with  two  six-shooters  and  a  bowie 
knife,  and  the  "regular"  with  one  six-shooter  and  a  "quoit"  (a  whip 
loaded  with  shot) — guns  were  drawn  ;  but  mutual  friends  (who  seem  to  play 
an  important  figure  in  such  affairs)  separated  them  before  a  great  deal  of 
damage  was  done.  Two  bloody  heads  and  some  black  eyes  were  the  only 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST, 


61 


results,  and  the  report  says  that  both  officers  attended  to  their  duties  at  the 
same  poll  in  the  court-house  as  before.  Other  arguments  and  explanations 
took  place  at  other  polls,  but  as  no  damage  was  done,  except  to  eyes  and 
noses,  they  are  not  worth  mentioning. 


When  the  result  WMS 
clared,  the  "  unterrified  "  or- 
ganized a  procession  to  serenade 
the  new  mayor.  A  band  uas 
secured,  and  under  the  lead  of 
my  friend  (the  grand  marshal 
who  had  conducted  the  St. 
Patrick's  Day  parade)  they 
marched  to  the  mayor-elect's 
residence,  and  after  listening  to 
a  neat  little  speech  of  thanks 
and  congratulation,  adjourned 
to  the  "  White  House  "  to  wind 
up  the  glorious  victory. 

If  you  look  at  the  whole 
performance  impartially,  and 
make  allowances  for  the  differ- 
ence in  latitude  between  the 
two  places,  you  will  perceive 

that  the  dissimilarity  is  not  as  great  between  here  and  at  home  as  you  would 
expect  when  you  consider  that  the  two  places  are  about  two  thousand  miles 
apart ;  and  it  furnishes  a  new  proof  of  the  solidarity  and  unity  of  our  free 
and  glorious  country. 


62  LETTERS   FROM  THE   SOUTHWEST. 

P.S. — I  forgot  to  relate  a  new  use  to  which  shooting-irons  are  put  in 
this  town.  A  week  or  two  ago,  in  the  evening,  as  I  was  just  getting  ready 
to  retire,  I  heard  a  regular  fusillade.  Half  a  dozen  shots  were  fired  not  a 
great  distance  from  the  hotel.  A  minute  or  two  later  the  fire  bells  began 
to  ring,  and  I  was  sure  then  that  some  cow-boys  had  taken  the  town  and 
were  murdering  the  inhabitants.  I  was  mistaken,  however ;  the  shooting- 
irons  served  simply  as  a  fire-alarm  box  to  notify  the  firemen  of  a  conflagra- 
tion in  a  grocery  store  in  San  Antonio  Street. 


XXVI. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  April  13,  1893. 

MY  son  Carl  has  just  returned  from  an  excursion  to  a  cattle  ranch  at 
Hueco  Tanks,  and  his  looks  show,  as  well  as  the  whirligig  on  the  Weather 
Bureau,  that  the  wind  blows  a  gale.  His  eyes,  his  ears,  and,  he  says,  his 
lungs  also,  are  filled  with  sand,  and  his  clothing  looks  as  gray  as  an  adobe 
house. 

You  may  remember  that  some  time  ago  I  introduced  you  to  the  owner 
of  the  corral  known  as  the  "  Horse  Restaurant,"  and  to  two  ranchmen 
that  we  found  there.  Carl  kept  his  saddle  and  obtained  the  horses  used 
for  his  equestrian  excursions  at  this  place,  and  in  a  short  time  became 
acquainted  with  many  of  the  cow-boys  who  frequented  it.  He  accepted 
an  invitation  to  visit  Hueco  Tanks  with  them,  and  the  condition  he  was  in 
when  he  returned,  after  a  week's  stay,  was  as  stated  above. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  he  had  a  high  wind  going  out  and  a  gale  com- 
ing back,  but  was  well  pleased  with  his  experience.  The  owner  of  the 
ranch,  described  before  as  the  "young  man  in  Mexican  costume"  that  we 
met  at  the  corral,  has  a  nice  residence  in  El  Paso,  and  is  considered  to  be 
well-off.  It  was  in  company  with  him  and  two  cow-boys  that  the  excursion 
was  made. 

If  Carl's  description  of  the  cattle  ranch  is  at  all  correct,  it  must  be  a 
picturesque  place. 

But  I  can  do  no  better  than  to  give  Carl  an  opportunity  to  tell  his 
own  story  of  the  trip  referred  to  above,  as  he  did  in  a  letter  to  a  friend  at 
home. 


XXVII. 

EL  PASO,  TEXAS,  April  14,  1893. 
DEAR  JACK : 

I  have  spent  a  good  deal  of  time  with  the  cow-boys  down  in  this  section, 
taking  trips  out  to  their  ranches  and  into  the  mountains  with  them,  and 
have  gotten  a  fair  insight  into  the  cattle  business. 

There  are  only  a  few  losses  that  the  ranchman  here  has  to  guard  against. 
He  does  not  have  to  worry  about  cattle  being  frozen,  taken  sick,  or  stray- 
ing very  far  from  the  "cow-camp,"  which  is  generally  situated  near  the 
tanks  or  springs  where  they  come  to  get  water. 

The  ranches  are  not  nearer  to  each  other  than  fifty  or  sixty  miles,  and 
cattle  will  not  stray  more  than  twenty  miles  from  water,  unless  the  buffalo 


64  LETTERS   FROM  THE   SOUTHWEST. 

grass  becomes  moistened  by  rain  or  dew,  and  that  is  something  that  seldom 
happens.  When  it  does,  the  grass  dries  very  rapidly. 

The  ranges  here  are  good  and  not  overstocked.  Occasionally  a  mountain 
lion  will  kill  a  calf  or  a  yearling  and  eat  from  the  flank  until  he  is  satis- 
fied ;  then  the  wildcats  will  start  in  at  the  shoulder,  while  the  coyote, 
who  has  been  lingering  about,  keeping  his  eye  on  the  feast,  will  pick  at  the 
carcass. 

Now  and  then  a  cattle  thief  will  start  at  the  northern  part  of  the  State 
with  a  few  head  of  cattle,  and  pick  up  others  from  the  different  ranches  all 
along  the  way  to  the  Rio  Grande,  where  he  will  cross  with  them  into  Mex- 
ico. In  this  way  they  sometimes  collect  a  herd  of  many  hundred  cattle, 
which  they  sell  to  the  Mexicans.  At  other  times  the  thieves  are  killed  by 
some  of  the  cow-boys  before  they  reach  their  destination. 

I  have  just  come  in  from  a  visit  to  the  ranch,  and  I  must  write  you 
about  the  trip  going  out.  The  morning  we  started  on  our  trip  over  the 
prairie,  Tom  and  Jim  came  down  to  the  corral  at  ten  o'clock,  and  we  three 
went  up  town  to  get  some  provisions,  including  canned  corn,  tanglefoot, 
etc.  We  got  back  at  eleven  and  saddled  the  mustangs. 

There  was  a  horse  for  us  to  take  out  to  the  ranch  for  a  rest.  He  had 
been  pretty  well  worked  out,  but  was  just  what  we  wanted  for  a  pack-horse. 
I  towed  him  out  of  the  corral,  and  before  going  very  far  found  that  he  would 
lead  about  as  well  as  a  wooden  post. 

We  went  down  the  turnpike  about  a  mile  to  where  Mrs.  L.  lives,  and 
there  Tom  changed  his  clothes  and  got  out  the  bedding  we  were  to  take 
along,  besides  some  camping  utensils,  blankets,  and  a  wagon  cover.  (Don't 
get  this  mixed  up  with  the  "  tenderfoot's  "  cover  for  keeping  the  dust  off 
wagons.) 

The  extra  horse  was  then  packed  as  usual,  by  first  laying  the  wagon 
cover  over  him  unfolded  ;  on  top  of  this  came  the  blankets  ;  next,  two  old 
oat-bags,  tied  together  at  the  top,  were  laid  across  the  horse,  one  hanging 
down  on  either  side ;  they  contained  our  cooking  utensils  and  provisions. 
The  wagon  cover  was  then  folded  over  the  other  things,  and  the  whole  tied 
tight  around  the  horse  with  a  lariat. 

After  this  was  done  we  started  out,  taking  turns  in  leading  the  pack- 
horse.  The  wind  was  coming  up  at  a  great  rate  from  the  southwest,  but 
as  we  were  travelling  with  it  we  did  not  mind  it  so  very  much. 

While  I  led  the  pack-horse  by  a  rope  around  his  neck,  with  a  half -hitch 
around  his  jaw,  the  boys  rode  behind  and  kept  him  up  with  an  occasional 
jab  from  a  gun-stock  or  a  kick  in  the  ribs.  This  sort  of  work  made  my 
pony  very  nervous,  as  he  was  not  yet  four  years  old  and  only  half  broken. 
When  we  got  to  the  first  Mexican  dug-outs,  three  miles  from  town,  he  tried 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  65 

to  get  away,  but  I  was  determined  he  should  lead  the  other  horse  if  it  took 
a  leg. 

About  two  hundred  yards  from  the  dug-outs  we  saw  two  Mexicans  driving 
a  bunch  of  cattle  off  of  the  road  on  which  we  were  travelling,  and  on  nearing 
them  Jim  said  :  "  There  is  a  flying  'X '  in  that  bunch." 

Tom  told  him  to  follow  them  and  go  through  the  bunch,  and  if  he  saw 
any  to  come  back,  and  we  would  all  go  down  and  cut  them  out.  But  he  did 
not  find  any  of  our  cattle  among  them. 

We  started  again,  reaching  the  Mesa,  when  the  pack-horse  jerked  back 
and  pulled  me  clear  of  the  stirrups.  Just  then  the  rope  broke,  and  my  pony 
started  to  run  and  buck — over  mounds,  cactus,  mesquite,  and  sage  bushes, 
and  running  around  dagger  plants,  fortunately  not  leaving  me  on  top  of 
any  of  them.  He  kept  this  up  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  before  lie  had  his  fill 
of  the  spurs  with  which  I  jabbed  him  at  every  jump.  We  both  had  a'good 
sweat  during  the  circus. 

The  boys  had  already  started  for  the  pack-horse,  which  had  left  as  soon 
as  the  rope  broke.  When  I  came  up,  Tom  handed  me  my  six-shooter,  which 
had  been  thrown  out  of  the  holster  while  the  pony  was  bucking.  It  is  a 
safe  rule  never  to  take  your  eyes  off  of  a  bronco's  head  ;  if  you  do,  he  may 
have  his  feet  on  yours. 

We  tried  to  drive  the  pack-horse  then,  but  he  did  not  have  the  brains  of 
a  chicken,  and  would  not  keep  road  or  trail ;  and  we  found  we  were  wearing 
our  horses  out  trying  to  keep  him  in  the  right  direction,  so  we  finally  con- 
cluded leading  was  the  best. 

The  wind  now  was  high,  and  picking  up  the  dust  and  sand  so  that  we 
could  not  see  fifty  feet  in  front  of  us,  and  we  struck  off  for  B.'s  ranch,  think- 
ing we  might  find  it,  which  we  did,  by  good  luck.  It  seemed  as  though  his 
whole  place  was  going  to  be  covered  up  with  the  sand,  that  was  drifting  like 
so  much  snow. 

His  house  was  very  comfortable  and  plain,  being  built  of  rough  pine 
boards,  but  the  cracks  allowed  considerable  sand  to  blow  in.  On  his  place, 
which  was  fenced  in,  was  a  wind-mill  for  pumping  water  out  of  an  artesian 
well  into  a  large  tank  that  was  on  high  supports  like  a  railroad  tank.  The 
mill  was  just  humming  on  account  of  the  high  wind. 

He  had  twelve  dogs  on  the  place,  and  they  looked  like  thoroughbred 
meat-hounds,  although  he  did  not  have  their  pedigrees.  We  had  some 
coffee,  eggs,  and  frijoles  in  the  kitchen  ;  and  after  watering  the  horses  and 
filling  our  canteens,  we  started  on. 

We  could  hardly  tell  what  direction  to  start  in,  the  air  was  so  full  of 
sand.  Every  trail  was  covered  up,  and  there  were  no  traces  of  a  road,  so  we 
went  it  blind.  Everything  looked  a  yellowish  cast  from  the  sun  shining 
5 


66 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


through  the  sand-filled  air,  and  we  could  just  make  out  our  shadows  on  the 
ground,  which  gave  us  our  only  idea  of  direction. 

Each  breath  helped  to  fill  our  throats  with  the  pure  prairie  sand,  and 
we  were  entirely  covered  with  it.  The  wind  was  so  warm  that  it  seemed 
like  a  hot  blast.  We  kept  pegging  along  over  the  rough  road,  our  ponies  in 
a  trot  all  the  way,  occasionally  sinking  in  up  to  their  ankles  when  they  would 
strike  a  gopher  burrow. 

At  six-thirty  or  thereabouts  the  sun  went  down  and  the  wind  partially 
died  out,  and  there  in  front  of  us,  in  the  distance,  stood  Sierra  Alto,  which 
is  the  highest  mountain  of  the  Hueco  chain,  and  stands  fifteen  miles  east  of 


our  camp.  A  peculiar  thing  about  these  rock  mountains  is  that  they  are 
entirely  bare  of  trees,  but  have  a  greenish  hue  from  the  mesquite  and  sage 
bushes,  amole,  and  Spanish  dagger. 

Finding  we  had  struck  three  miles  north  of  the  main  gap  leading  to  the 
tanks,  we  went  straight  on  over  the  first  range  of  hills,  and  got  on  the  north- 
west trail  at  dark.  The  dagger  plants  were  all  in  bloom  in  this  section  of 
the  country,  and  the  cacti,  with  their  beautiful  red  flowers,  were  in  all 
directions  more  plentiful  than  near  El  Paso. 

The  short  cucumber  cacti  had  their  tops  covered  with  bright  red  flowers. 
The  amole  or  soap  weed  is  of  a  dark  green  color.  It  grows  low  on  the 
ground,  and  spreads  like  a  century  plant.  From  the  centre,  a  distance  of 
seven  or  eight  feet,  there  shoots  out  a  stalk  of  white,  fibrous  material,  and 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


67 


on  the  top  of  this  blossoms  out  a  large  bunch  of  white,  bell-shaped  flowers. 
The  amole  is  a  tough  plant  on  horses,  as  the  thorns  on  the  ends  of  the  leaves 
break  off  in  the  hock  joints  when  yon  do  any  fast  riding  over  a  country 
covered  with  them,  where  there  is  neither  road  nor  trail,  arid  if  the  thorns 
are  not  taken  out  at  night  the  pony  will  not  be  fit  to  ride  the  next 
morning. 

The  Spanish  dagger  grows  to  the  height  of  five  or  six  feet,  with  a  bunch 
of  sharp  leaves  on  the  top,  the  lower  ones  having  dried  and  fallen  from  the 
sides  of  a  trunk  which  is  sometimes  six  or  eight  inches  in  diameter.  It  is  a 


mean  plant  to  ride  against,  as  it  will  cut  a  hole  in  a  leather  boot  as  easy  as 
a  bullet  will. 

After  travelling  through  the  rough,  over  rocks,  and  down  to  the  trail,  we 
had  easy  going  to  the  tanks  for  about  four  miles,  where  we  arrived  at  eight 
o'clock,  having  be«n  in  the  saddle  eight  hours,  and  having  travelled  forty- 
five  miles. 

We  watered  the  horses  first,  and  then  went  around  to  the  cow-camp, 
where  we  found  Billy  McIJ.  and  wife,  with  their  little  three-year-old  girl, 
living  in  a  natural  cave.  After  cooking  some  coffee  and  meat  and  having 


68  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

supper,  we  turned  in,  making  our  beds  up  outside,  the  clear  blue  sky  the 
only  canopy  over  our  heads. 

We  arose  at  sunnght,  washed  in  the  old  frying-pan  with  the  handle  off, 
and  after  a  trip  around  to  the  tanks  to  get  a  couple  of  pails  of  drinking- 
water,  we  breakfasted  on  fried  meat,  biscuit,  and  coffee.  We  then  helped 
Jim  get  his  horses  ready  for  atrip  up  to  a  spring  about  fifty  miles  northeast, 
where  he  was  going  to  locate  a  new  cow-camp. 

While  the  boys  were  getting  the  pack-horse  ready,  I  took  a  snap-shot  at 
them.  One  was  standing  at  the  pony's  head,  holding  him;  the  other  two 
were  on  either  side,  tying  down  the  saddle-bags  with  a  lariat. 

After  Jim's  departure  we  went  out  to  get  some  "roping"  pictures. 
Tom  first  chased  the  steer  at  full  speed,  at  the  same  time  throwing  the 
rope  over  his  head.  After  he  had  caught  him  and  stopped  him,  he  rode 
around  him  until  the  rope  bound  his  feet  together.  Spurring  the  pony,  he 
then  tripped  the  steer  and  threw  him  to  the  ground,  where  the  pony  held 
him  down  by  bracing  himself  and  keeping  the  rope  taut.  Tom  then  dis- 
mounted, the  pony,  who  was  thoroughly  trained,  meanwhile  holding  the 
steer  down  alone. 

Quite  frequently  a  powerful  animal  has  been  known  to  wriggle  himself 
loose  and  at  once  attack  the  horse.  After  one  experience  of  this  sort  a  pony 
will  exert  himself  to  the  utmost  to  keep  the  steer  down. 

The  next  move  Tom  made  was  to  take  the  steer's  tail  and  pass  it 
between  his  legs.  He  then,  by  speaking  to  the  pony,  who  let  go  his  hold, 
loosened  the  lariat  and  tied  the  steer's  feet  together.  He  was  now  ready 
for  branding.  He  then  roped  another  steer,  which  was  thrown  by  stop- 
ping the  horse  while  the  steer  was  running  away  at  full  speed. 

As  it  was  nearing  dinner-time,  we  returned  to  camp,  and  after  having 
some  roast  beef  and  coffee  we  started  on  a  trip  up  to  Sierra  Alto,  a  moun- 
tain twenty  miles  from  camp,  from  the  base  of  which  we  had  a  beautiful 
view  of  the  mountains  and  plain. 

To  conclude  my  story,  I  will  describe  our  camp  and  give  you  an  idea  of 
the  rocks  and  caves  in  our  neighborhood. 

The  rocks  are  of  volcanic  origin,  and  were  forced  up  in  the  centre  of  the 
plain,  which  is  about  fifty  miles  square,  and  though  surrounded  by  moun- 
tains is  as  level  as  the  sea.  The  rocks  cover  about  three-quarters  of  a 
square  mile,  and  in  some  places  rise  perpendicularly  to  a  height  of  two 
hundred  and  fifty  feet.  They  are  filled  with  caves,  tunnels,  and  natural 
tanks,  whence  their  name. 

Our  camp  was  made  in  one  of  these  caves,  which  had  a  roof  that  was 
quite  flat,  and  a  fire-place  in  front  of  the  entrance  open  to  the  sky  above. 

The  tanks  are  three  in  number,  and  situated  in  a  canon  north  of  the 


LETTERS   FROM  THE   SOUTHWEST.  69 

camp.  They  are  fed  with  springs  which  supply  an  abundance  of  water  for 
the  cattle. 

Some  of  the  caves  south  of  the  camp  were  at  one  time  inhabited  by 
Comanches.  On  the  rocks  there  are  still  many  Indian  paintings  and 
drawings,  and  borings  where  they  used  to  grind  their  corn. 

There  are  also  many  pieces  of  Indian  pottery,  and  flint  chips  left  from 
their  manufacture  of  arrow-heads.  In  one  cave  that  they  inhabited  there 
is  a  natural  well,  eight  feet  deep  and  filled  with  clear,  cool  water.  In 
another  place  there  is  a  deep  perpendicular  crack  from  the  top  of  the  rock, 
which  is  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  high,  to  the  plain.  It  makes  a  straight 
passageway  for  two  hundred  yards,  and  averages  about  four  feet  in  width. 
During  warm  weather  the  prairie  rattlesnake  makes  his  appearance  in  these 
caves  and  under  the  rocks.  GAEL. 


XXVIII. 

SANTA  FE,  N.  M.,  April  19,  1893. 

MY  stay  in  El  Paso  terminated  on  Monday  last,  just  three  months  to  a 
day  from  the  time  I  said  farewell  to  our  beautiful  Yonkers. 

And  on  taking  leave,  I  must  confess  I  had  a  feeling  as  if  I  was  going 
away  from  a  dear  friend.  Many  of  the  guests  from  the  hotel  and  some 
of  the  citizens  came  to  the  depot  to  say  good-by,  and  the  leave-taking, 
hand-shaking,  and  wishes  for  good  health  and  happiness,  mutually  ex- 
pressed, were  as  hearty  and  sincere  as  if  we  had  lived  together  for  a 
lifetime. 

When  I  landed  in  El  Paso  I  was  very  low  down.  I  was  an  invalid,  and 
to  take  a  walk  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  was  more  than  I  could  stand.  All 
this  had  changed.  I  had  made  all  my  tours  through  El  Paso  on  foot.  To 
walk  three  or  four  miles  a  day  was  my  regular  exercise  during  the  last 
month  or  more,  whenever  the  wind  was  below  ten  miles  an  hour. 

My  long  residence  in  this  place  gave  me  many  opportunities  to  meet  the 
citizens.  I  received  nothing  but  kindness  at  their  hands. 

In  spite  of  the  rough  elements  invariably  found  on  the  border,  life  is  as 
safe  in  El  Paso  as  at  home,  and  all  try  to  make  the  stay  of  the  visitor  as 
pleasant  as  possible.  My  leanings  toward  the  picturesque  side  of  life,  and 
the  new  scenes  which  characterized  the  frontier  town  and  made  it  especially 
interesting  to  me,  need  not  interfere  with  any  visitor.  I  cannot  but  recall 
the  look  of  surprise  on  the  face  of  the  clerk  of  Uncle  Sam's  Weather 
Bureau  when  I  related  to  him  some  of  the  results  of  my  investigations,  and 
told  him  of  the  people  I  had  met.  The  gentleman  is  from  Maine,  and  he 


70  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

evidently  knew  El  Paso  only  as  he  saw  it  in  bird's-eye  view  from  his  roost 
on  the  highest  building  in  the  town. 

On  leaving  El  Paso,  I  can  conscientiously  recommend  it  to  any  one 
who,  like  myself,  wants  rest  and  sunshine  in  the  winter,  a  dry  atmosphere, 
and  pure,  clear  air.  Should  I  ever  want  to  emigrate  again  and  bask  in  the 
sunshine  of  a  health-giving  climate,  I  will  make  a  bee-line  for  North  Pass 
City,  in  Texas,  knowing  that  I  shall  not  be  disappointed. 


XXIX. 

SANTA  FE,  N.  M.,  May  10,  1893. 

IN  my  last  letter  I  took  leave  of  El  Paso,  but  I  can't  help  returning  to 
it  before  I  give  you  a  description  of  my  trip  to  Santa  Fe. 

Our  trunks  had  been  packed  a  day  or  two  before  ;  my  son  Carl  had 
brought  his  saddle  from  the  "corral";  the  Mexican  curiosities  and  some 
fossils  he  had  collected  in  the  mountains  had  been  boxed  and  started  for 
home,  and  we  were  ready  to  leave.  The  train  was  to  start  at  10.30  A.M., 
and  this  left  us  time  enough  to  make  a  last  visit  to  Mr.  Potter's  sanctum. 
He  presented  us  with  a  flask  of  his  best  whiskey  to  protect  us  against  the 
drought  which  is  permanent  on  the  barren  plain  we  had  to  cross  on  our  way 
to  Santa  Fe. 

I  took  a  final  walk  around  the  basin  in  the  Plaza  to  say  good-by  to  the 
alligators,  who  were  taking  their  morning  nap  on  the  water's  edge ;  shook 
hands  with  some  of  the  visitors  whom  I  had  met,  and  after  having  taken 
leave  of  our  landlord  and  some  of  the  guests,  drove  to  the  depot  of  the 
Santa  Fe  Railroad. 

Carl's  friends,  the  boys  with  whom  he  had  made  his  equestrian  excur- 
sions during  our  stay,  all  came  to  say  good-by.  Some  of  them  had  made 
up  a  party  to  travel  on  horseback  through  New  Mexico  to  Denver,  Colo., 
and  they  were  going  to  take  a  "  prairie  schooner "  to  carry  the  baggage, 
water,  and  provisions,  and  were  to  leave  an  hour  after  our  train  de- 
parted. All  were  dressed  in  their  travelling  costume  :  broad-brimmed 
hats,  short  riding-jackets,  high  boots,  and  spurs  with  rowels  the  size  of  a 
cartwheel. 

There  was  Jim  and  his  brother  from  Chicago  ;  Dock,  the  young  fellow 
from  New  York,  who  insisted  that  a  part  of  the  camping  outfit  should  con- 
sist of  .silver  spoons,  knives,  and  forks  ;  and  the  remaining  "  twin."  In  one 
of  our  excursions  around  El  Paso  I  mentioned  two  young  men  from  New 
Jersey,  brothers,  who  looked  so  much  alike  that  I  could  only  tell  them 
apart  when  they  were  together.  Although  of  different  ages,  we  called  them 


LETTERS   FBOM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  71 

"  twins."  One  had  started  for  home  about  a  week  previous,  and  the  other 
was  now  starting  on  his  first  camping-out  trip  toward  the  north. 

"  All  aboard  ! "  called  the  conductor,  and  with  a  last  waving  of  hands 
we  left  our  friends  and  El  Paso  behind  us. 

The  train  follows  for  miles  the  bed  of  the  Rio  Grande.  We  passed  the 
pumping-station  which  furnishes  the  town  with  water  from  the  river  when 
there  is  any.  We  took  a  last  look  at  the  old  fort,  where  Uncle  Sam  has  a 
garrison  of  some  three  or  four  companies  of  artillery  and  infantry.  To  hear 
the  band  play  and  see  the  soldiers  on  dress  parade,  we  had  visited  it  many 
times  during  our  stay. 

Within  a  mile  of  this  point  is  the  smelter,  a  large  establishment  with 
smoking  chimneys  all  over  it,  where  the  lead  and  silver  ores,  mostly  im- 
ported from  Mexico,  are  reduced  and  converted  into  lead  pigs  and  silver 
bars.  All  the  laborers  are  Mexicans,  and  the  works  are  flanked  on  two 
sides  by  an  adobe  town  of  the  usual  type.  On  our  first  visit  there  one 
Saturday  afternoon  we  found  the  whole  town  in  an  uproar  over  a  football 
game  played  by  the  younger  generation,  all  the  men,  women,  and  children 
forming  an  admiring  audience.  Among  the  lookers-on  were  two  little 
misses  on  a  pony,  who  started  with  us  on  our  return  to  the  city.  It  was  an 
interesting  sight  to  see  how  well  they  kept  their  seats  in  the  side-saddle,  and 
it  gave  our  horse  something  to  do  to  keep  up  with  them  as  they  rode  along, 
laughing  and  chatting  and  evidently  enjoying  the  race  with  our  buggy. 

Our  train  sped  on.  The  river  on  our  left  and  the  mountains  on  both 
sides  gradually  receded,  leaving  a  plain  covered  near  the  water's  edge  with 
cottonwood  trees,  and  here  and  there  some  fields  which  surrounded  the 
adobe  houses  of  the  few  Mexicans  who  raise  vegetables  and  herd  cattle  on 
the  river  bottom. 

At  Rincon  we  stopped  for  dinner.  On  my  return  to  the  train  I  took  a 
seat  in  the  smoking-car,  to  enjoy  my  last  Mexican  cigar.  The  car  contained 
a  mixed  company  :  drummers  from  Northern  and  Western  cities,  "Greasers," 
and  a  few  inhabitants  who  were  taking  short  rides  between  the  way-stations, 
at  all  of  which  our  train  stopped.  As  I  entered  and  looked  for  a  seat,  I 
saw  a  figure  dressed  in  a  heavy  ulster  buttoned  up  to  his  chin,  above  which 
appeared  a  woolly  head  covered  with  a  cap.  As  I  passed  I  saw  a  black  face 
with  heavy,  curling  whiskers,  and  a  mustache  corresponding  to  the  hair 
and  whiskers.  It  was  an  Australian  negro,  one  of  a  band  of  six  or  seven  who 
had  given  an  exhibition  of  boomerang  throwing  in  El  Paso.  The  poor  fellow 
had  met  with  an  accident.  After  the  exhibition  there  was  some  kind  of  a 
rumpus  about  the  receipts  at  the  gate,  and  a  part  of  the  company  seceded 
and  started  in  on  their  own  hook.  I  don't  know  whether  the  local  traditions 
of  Texas  as  a  rebel  State  had  anything  to  do  with  this  movement,  but,  at 


72  LETTERS   FEOM   THE    SOUTHWEST. 

any  rate,  a  part  of  the  performers  went  to  Santa  Marcia,  the  subject  of  this 
sketch  among  them.  The  financial  success  of  the  performance  must  have 
been  great,  because,  after  the  show,  our  bearded  friend  got  dead  drunk,  and 
falling  from  the  stoop  of  the  hotel,  broke  his  arm,  and  had  to  be  returned  to 
El  Paso  to  have  it  set  and  taken  care  of.  I  don't  know,  of  course,  whether 
the  habit  of  getting  drunk  was  contracted  in  the  bush  in  Australia  or  not, 
but  have  my  doubts,  because,  from  all  accounts,  fluids  are  as  scarce  in  the 
Australian  bush  as  in  Texas  and  New  Mexico  ;  and  I  am  inclined  to  think 
it  an  acquirement  of  Western  civilization,  which,  no  doubt,  influences  all 
visitors,  whether  they  come  from  the  antipodes  or  from  nearer  home. 

A  word  about  boomerangs  and  their  flight.  Most  of  us  have  thrown 
boomerangs,  figuratively  speaking,  which  hit  the  thrower  with  more  or 
less  force ;  but  to  see  these  sons  of  the  Australian  wilds  throw  them  in 
reality,  is  a  surprise.  We  saw  a  black  man,  with  lean  legs  and  arms  that 
look  as  if  there  were  no  muscles  on  them,  throw  the  sickle-shaped  pieces 
of  wood  with  a  force  and  skill  that  caused  them  to  circle  over  the  heads 
of  the  spectators  who  filled  the  grand-stand  of  the  base-ball  grounds  of 
El  Paso,  to  rise  like  a  bird  almost  out  of  sight,  and  to  circle  in  smaller  and 
smaller  circuits  around  the  thrower,  till  they  dropped  at  his  feet !  It  was 
almost  impossible  to  believe  my  own  eyes,  and  the  experience  recalled  an 
anecdote  of  one  of  our  townsmen  who,  years  ago,  when  spirit-rapping  first 
came  into  prominence,  related  to  a  friend  some  of  the  wonderful  feats  he 
had  seen.  "Well,"  said  this  friend,  "would  you  have  believed  it  had  you 
not  seen  it  with  your  own  eyes  ?  "  "  No,"  said  the  relater.  "  Well,  I  have 
not  seen  it,  and  that  accounts  for  my  doubt. " 

While  telling  this  story  we  have  entered  a  level  plain,  more  desolate 
than  the  plains  east  of  El  Paso.  Even  the  sage  brush  is  stunted,  and  the 
Mexican  dagger-plant  and  some  cacti  are  the  only  vegetation  that  seems 
to  flourish  ;  although,  here  and  there,  bunches  of  short  buffalo  grass,  that 
looks  more  like  hay,  would  furnish  food  for  cattle  and  horses.  The  river 
is  miles  to  the  westward,  and  the  mountains  miles  to  the  eastward,  and  the 
drought  which  has  hung  over  this  part  of  New  Mexico  for  a  long  time 
has  left  many  a  relic  in  the  shape  of  skeletons  of  dead  horses  and  cattle  that 
line  the  railroad.  No  evidence  of  man  is  in  sight  for  miles  and  miles  on 
this  barren  plain,  except  the  windmills  for  pumping  water  from  wells  sunk 
by  some  enterprising  ranchman. 

But  such  ranches  are  few  and  far  between,  and  as  we  near  Lava,  about 
half-way  between  El  Paso  and  Albuquerque,  the  desolation  becomes  more 
desolate.  The  sage  brush  and  cactus  grow  less  and  less  frequent.  Black 
rocks  project  from  each  elevation,  and  gradually  the  whole  plain  and  the 
hills,  which  now  approach  nearer  to  the  Rio  Grande,  are  covered  with  them. 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


73 


Imagine  a  country  without  water  for  miles  and  miles,  where  the  water  to 
supply  the  locomotives  has  to  be  hauled  on  tank  trains  ;  then  look  at  the 
black  lava  jutting  out  of  the  loose  sand,  and  you  cannot  but  admire  the 
courage  and  perseverance  of  the  men  who  laid  the  iron  ribbon  that  connects 
the  north  pass  into  Mexico  with  the  west  of  our  great  continent. 

But  the  picture  changes  as  if  by  magic  when  we  approach  Santa 
Marcia.  The  road  runs  close  to  mountains  covered  from  the  foot  to  the 
top  with  loose,  broken  lava.  The  Eio  Grande,  furnishing  water  to  a  plain 
spread  with  flourishing  fields,  is  on  our  left,  the  intense  green  of  the 
alfalfa  being  interrupted  here  and  there  by  fields  of  wheat  just  sprouting 
from  the  ground.  Irrigating  canals  filled  with  water  run  in  every  direc- 


tion, their  banks  lined  with  trees  just  putting  on  their  summer  coats  ;  the 
orchards,  too,  are  in  full  bloom. 

Santa  Marcia  was  our  next  stopping  place.  Locomotives  had  to  be 
changed,  and  we  had  a  few  minutes  to  stretch  our  legs.  The  place,  as 
much  of  it  as  I  could  see,  is  a  new  American  town,  but  it  has  its  plaza  like 
all  the  Mexican  and  Texan  towns  I  have  seen.  (And  I  just  wonder  why  we 
cannot  have  some  such  breathing  spot  in  our  own  beautiful  Yonkers  !)  The 
principal  business  houses  and  hotels  are  around  this  plaza.  Too  late  I  noticed 
that  some  of  my  fellow-travellers,  who  had  been  here  before,  had  laid  in  a 
stock  of  fluid  provisions  in  the  shape  of  a  number  of  bottles  of  lager,  to  last 
until  we  should  reach  Albuquerque,  our  supper  station  ;  but  I  had  no  reason 
to  regret  my  neglect  when  the  bottles  were  opened  later  on,  and  a  cordial 
invitation  extended  to  me  to  join  in  "irrigating." 


74  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

• 

A  short  distance  from  the  town  we  crossed  to  the  right  side  of  the  Rio 
Grande,  and  ran  through  a  country  where  green  meadows  and  ploughed 
fields  cover  the  valley,  and  herds  of  cattle  feed  on  the  green  plains.  The 
river-bed  in  some  parts  is  almost  dry,  the  water  having  been  diverted  by 
the  irrigating  canals,  and  only  a  portion  returned  by  soakage  through  the 
ground. 

Adobe  houses  line  the  hills,  and  in  some  of  the  older  Mexican  towns 
above  the  house-tops  appear  the  quaint  belfries  of  the  churches,  with  the 
bells  suspended  by  ropes  from  cross-trees.  The  Mexican  has  brought  his 


grape-vines  into  the  valley — fine  vineyards  of  thrifty  vines  surround  like 
gardens  many  an  adobe  house. 

The  mountains  have  completely  changed  their  character ;  the  lava  lining 
has  disappeared,  and  at  times  we  pass  sections  in  which  the  vertical  walls 
of  red  sandstone  have  been  sculptured  by  the  action  of  water  and  sand 
storms  into  veritable  ruins  of  castles  and  cathedrals  of  cyclopean  dimen- 
sions. The  adobe  houses  have  also  gradually  changed  color ;  the  sombre 
gray  has  given  place  to  a  more  cheerful  red  that  contrasts  pleasantly  with 
the  black  soil  of  the  valley. 

But  I  had  almost  forgotten  my  travelling  companions  in  the  smoker. 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  75 

Our  Australian  had  left  us  at  Santa  Marcia,  but  a  group  of  travellers  had 
formed  and  were  carrying  on  a  lively  conversation  on  mining  in  Mexico. 
One  of  them  was  a  cattleman  from  Colorado  returning  from  a  business  trip 
to  New  Orleans;  another  was  a  mining  engineer,  and  the  third  was  a 
manufacturer  from  Milwaukee.  The  two  latter  had  made  a  flying  trip  to 
Chihuahua,  Mexico,  to  inspect  and  preempt  a  silver  mine  of  untold  rich- 
ness. I  don't  remember  how  much  silver  to  the  ton  its  ore  contains,  but  it 
was  fabulous.  It  was  the  same  story  I  had  heard  from  the  promoters  in  El 
Paso  for  months;  and  even  earlier  from  some  of  my  friends  at  home  who 
know  something  about  silver  mines  in  Mexico.  The  ranchman  thought, 
and  he  said  so,  that  there  was  more  silver  in  cattle-raising  than  in  all  the 
silver  mines  in  Mexico.  I  think  most  of  those  who  have  tried  it  say  the 
same.  From  the  mine  we  got  to  the  Mexican,  and,  at  last,  to  the  Indian  ; 
and  I  learned,  incidentally,  that  we  would  pass  close  to  one  of  the  Indian 
"pueblos" — namely,  that  of  Ysleta— and  that  we  would  most  likely  find  a 
number  of  squaws  and  youngsters  at  the  station  willing  to  sell  us  pottery, 
baskets,  and  trinkets;  so  when  we  stopped  I  was  prepared  to  step  off  and 
see  the  Indians.  I  had  seen  Indians  in  Michigan  and  Western  New  York, 
dressed  up  in  blankets,  headed  moccasons,  and  all  the  finery  we  usually 
observe  in  pictures  of  them  ;  but  I  was -always  impressed  with  the  notion 
that,  a  good  part  of  it  was  put  on  for  the  benefit  of  the  white  man — a  sort 
of  show-dress  to  attract  attention  and  help  sell  their  wares. 

There  were  about  a  dozen  squaws,  boys,  and  girls,  with  bright  blankets 
and  dressed  in  a  costume  of  as  many  colors  as  you  could  wish — as  pleasing  a 
bit  of  coloring  as  I  had  seen.  Some  offered  pottery,  jugs,  and  little  plates ; 
others  had  baskets  to  sell,  and  one  squaw  did  a  flourishing  business  with  her 
pappoose.  The  pappoose  had  on  a  short  blue  calico  dress  with  a  red  cloth 
belt  around  the  waist,  and  green  leggings  beaded  on  each  side  on  its  feet. 
She  covered  the  baby's  face  with  one  corner  of  her  red  striped  blanket,  and 
called  out  :  "Nickel,  nickel !"  The  travellers,  struck  with  the  novelty  of 
the  proposition,  handed  out  their  nickels,  and  the  squaw  removed  the 
blanket  and  showed  the  baby's  face,  to  the  great  amusement  of  the  lookers- 
on  and  to  the  evident  satisfaction  of  the  pappoose,  who  squalled  lustily  while 
its  face  was  covered.  I  think  this  enterprising  mother  did  the  most  busi- 
ness, and,  on  the  whole,  the  baby  was  worth  seeing.  With  its  full  round 
cheeks,  its  small  black  eyes,  and  its  shining  black  hair,  it  was  as  handsome 
a  child,  though  rather  dark,  as  you  would  be  likely  to  meet  with  in  many 
days'  travel. 

I  must  confess  I  was  not  very  deeply  impressed  with  the  exhibition  ;  it 
struck  me  as  altogether  too  theatrical;  and  yet  the  ranchman  from  Colo- 
rado, who  had  visited  some  of  the  pueblos  in  New  Mexico,  assured  me  that 


76  LETTERS   FROM  THE   SOUTHWEST. 

the  dresses  the  Indians  wore  were  nothing  more  than  was  customary  on 
festive  occasions. 

At  Albuquerque  we  had  our  supper,  and  as  night  closed  in,  I  saw  no 
more  of  the  country.  We  reached  Lamy,  the  junction  of  the  Santa  Fe 
branch  road,  at  10.30  P.M.,  and  Santa  Fe  about  midnight,  and  went  to  bed, 
thoroughly  tired  out,  at  the  Palace  Hotel. 

This  is  the  longest  letter  I  have  yet  written,  but  no  wonder  ;  there  was 
no  place  where  I  could  break  off,  and  as  Santa  Fe  weather  differs  slightly 
from  that  of  El  Paso,  I  have  plenty  of  time  to  write,  being  compelled  to 
stay  in  the  house  instead  of  out-doors,  as  I  did  there  most  of  the  time. 


XXX. 

SANTA  FE,  N.  M.,  May  16,  1893. 

I  HAVE  now  been  here  for  over  a  week  and  have  taken  a  good  look  at 
Santa  Fe,  and  I  think,  although  you  can  find  a  description  of  the  city  and 
its  surroundings  in  any  one  of  the  advertisements  of  the  Atchison,  Topeka, 
and  Santa  Fe  R.B.  Co.,  it  will  interest  you  to  see  it  in  my  company  as  you 
did  El  Paso.  And  as  in  that  case  we  climbed  up  to  the  Mesa  Garden  for 
a  view  of  the  city,  we  will  in  the  present  case  climb  the  hill  in  the  rear  of 
the  Palace  Hotel  to  the  ruins  of  old  Fort  Marcy. 

But  before  we  start  I  must  remind  you  not  to  walk  at  the  same  speed 
as  you  do  at  home.  You  are  now  nearly  eight  thousand  feet  above  sea 
level,  and  the  air  is  thin  ;  the  only  safe  thing  to  do  is  to  copy  the  native 
Mexicans,  who  have  all  the  time  they  want,  and  never  go  "  faster  than  a 
walk,"  as  the  signs  read  on  dilapidated  bridges. 

I  thought  at  first  that  the  reason  why  the  natives  did  not  move  any 
faster  was  that  they  had  fallen  into  the  same  pace  as  their  burros ;  but  I 
soon  found  out  that  even  burro  speed  was  too  fast  for  me  to  keep  my  wind. 

The  Palace  Hotel  fronts  on  a  broad  avenue,  and  opposite  is  a  square 
covered  with  buildings  used  by  the  garrison  for  a  magazine,  wood-yard, 
coal-shed,  etc.  We  turn  to  the  right  of  this,  and  soon  reach  a  cluster  of 
adobe  houses  that  line  the  foot  of  the  hill  on  which  the  fort  stands.  This 
hill  is  about  two  hundred  feet  high,  and  following  a  winding  path,  we  in 
due  time  get  to  the  fort  and  enter  from  the  rear,  leaving  the  ruins  of  a 
powder  magazine  on  our  left.  We  now  find  ourselves  in  the  centre  of  earth- 
works covering  about  an  acre  of  ground  ;  these  were  the  ramparts,  and  the 
bastions  where  the  cannon  were  mounted  can  still  be  traced. 

We  walk  to  the  front  and  take  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  capital  of  New 
Mexico,  the  oldest  city  but  one  in  the  United  States. 


LETTERS  FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  77 

The  fort  stands  upon  one  of  the  foot-hills  of  the  Santa  Fe  Mountains, 
which  tower  like  giants  at  the  east  and  extend  to  the  north  as  far  as  the  eye 
can  reach.  But  even  they  are  overtopped  by  old  "  Baldy,"  with  its  head  of 
snow  shimmering  in  the  sun.  To  the  westward,  two  or  three  ranges  of 
mountains  wall  in  the  plain,  which  extends  southerly  for  miles  and  miles,  to 
be  closed  in  by  another  wall  of  hills  still  farther  distant  than  those  of  the  west. 

The  city  is  situated  in  a  natural  basin,  protected  on  all  sides  from  dis- 
astrous wind  storms;  and  it  is  not  strange  that,  long  before  a  European  had 
put  foot  on  the  soil  of  New  Mexico,  the  Pueblo  Indians  had  one  of  their 
most  populous  villages  on  this  very  spot.  But  no  trace  of  the  Indian  pop- 
ulation remains.  The  Spaniards  have  civilized  and  converted  them  out  of 
existence,  and  the  last  vestige  of  their  buildings  disappeared  forever  when 
the  ruins  of  this  pueblo  were  made  over  by  the  government  into  Fort  Marcy, 
where  we  now  stand.  This  is  historical  ground.  One  civilization  has  dis- 
placed another,  and  history  is  repeating  itself.  As  the  Indian  disappeared 
before  the  Spaniard,  so  the  Mexican  of  the  present  day  is  gradually  disap- 
pearing before  the  men  from  the  North,  and  in  two  centuries  from  now  no 
more  traces  of  the  Mexican  will  remain  in  Santa  Fe  than  we  find  to-day  of 
the  Indians. 

But  let  us  take  a  look  at  the  city  spread  out  at  our  feet.  The  Federal 
building,  with  its  flag  flying  in  the  breeze,  is  right  in  front  of  us.  It  stands 
in  a  large  square  surrounded  by  a  stone  wall,  and  in  front  of  the  entrance 
we  see  the  monument  erected  in  honor  of  Kit  Carson,  who  led  the  path- 
finder, John  C.  Fremont,  to  the  sunny  plains  of  California. 

In  front  of  the  Federal  building  is  a  wide  avenue  called  Federal  Street, 
and  on  the  other  side  of  the  street  is  New  Fort  Marcy;  but  New  Fort  Marcy 
has  neither  ramparts  nor  bastions.  It  is  bounded  by  four  wide  streets  and 
is  intersected  by  a  fifth,  known  as  Lincoln  Street.  This  street  extends 
from  the  Federal  building  to  the  palace,  and  along  one  side  of  the  Plaza. 
The  headquarters,  the  parade  ground,  with  its  flagstaff  and  two  old  brass 
cannon,  the  officers'  quarters  (where  the  houses  occupied  by  General  Grant 
and  General  Hayes  are  pointed  out  to  the  visitors),  and  the  barracks  face  the 
west  side  of  Lincoln  Street,  while  the  magazine  and  the  governor's  resi- 
dence occupy  the  square  on  the  east  side. 

The  palace,  which  has  served  as  the  habitation  of  the  Spanish  viceroy, 
and,  later  on,  as  the  dwelling  place  of  the  Mexican  governors,  is  now,  as 
said  before,  the  official  home  of  the  Governor  of  New  Mexico. 

The  Stars  and  Stripes  fly  at  the  masthead  in  the  parade  ground  from  sun- 
rise to  sunset,  and  it  is  a  great  consolation  to  see  that  flag  flying  when  you 
are  away  from  home  in  a  country  as  strange  looking  as  that  surrounding 
Santa  Fe. 


78  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

And,  while  I  think  of  it,  I  must  tell  you  of  something  that  made  rather  a 
queer  impression  on  my  mind.  A  few  days  ago  a  new  governor  was  inaugu- 
rated in  the  capital  of  New  Mexico.  You  may  have  heard  that  there  was  a 
change  of  administration  at  Washington,  and  this  event  had  to  be  celebrated. 

Two  companies  of  Uncle  Sam's  "  boys  in  blue,"  the  pupils  of  the  Indian 
Institute,  the  patriots  of  New  Mexico  who  want  offices,  and  others  too 
numerous  to  mention,  marched  in  procession  past  our  hotel,  with  banners 
flying  and  a  band  at  their  head.  But  imagine  my  surprise  when,  for  the 
first  time,  I  saw  the  defenders  of  our  country  adorned  with  the  Prussian 
helmet !  In  my  boyhood  days  I  had  seen  them  on  the  other  side  of  the 
water — the  Prussians  shooting  at  us,  and  we  shooting  at  the  Prussians — and 
I  don't  wonder  now  that  we  got  the  worst  of  it,  when  their  helmet  has  con- 
quered even  Uncle  Sam.  I  think  old  Moltke  must  feel  highly  flattered,  if 
he  looks  down  upon  us  from  above,  to  see  his  lightning-rod  on  the  top  of 
our  boys  in  blue. 

The  old  palace  is  an  interesting  building.  It  was  built  in  the  early  part 
of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  from  our  standpoint  on  the  old  fort  it  looks 
like  a  long,  low  house,  out  of  all  proportion  to  its  height.  In  front  of  the 
palace  is  the  Plaza,  and  through  the  old  trees  we  can  just  see  the  roof  of  the 
pavilion  where  the  band  plays  every  day,  and  where  Santa  Fe  promenades 
every  sunny  day. 

Palace  Street  is  the  Fifth  Avenue  of  Santa  Fe.  Most  of  the  stylish 
residences  line  its  sides  ;  but  a  little  distance  from  these  I  made  a  discovery. 
To  see  the  city,  you  generally  go  over  to  the  west  side  of  the  Santa  Fe 
Kiver,  drive  up  the  valley  through  the  Mexican  town,  and  return  by  Palace 
Street,  after  crossing  to  the  east  side  of  the  river  on  a  bridge.  Well,  one  day 
we  made  this  trip,  and  when  within  a  half  mile  of  the  stylish  part  of  the 
street  we  discovered  on  our  right  a  sign  with  the  legend  "  Santa  Fe  Beer 
Garden."  We  stopped,  of  course,  and  found  ourselves  in  the  Fatherland. 
Tables  under  the  trees,  and  a  jolly  fellow-countryman  of  mine  ready  to 
serve  his  customers  with  pure  Santa  Fe  lager  and  real  St.  Louis  pretzels. 
When  he  brought  the  lager,  however,  I  was  both  astonished  and  amazed. 
You  have,  no  doubt,  seen  in  Yonkers,  in  front  of  the  establishments  where 
the  juice  of  King  Gambrinus  is  flowing,  a  sign  with  the  picture  of  a  tumbler 
of  huge  size,  saying,  "  Schooners,  five  cents."  But  even  the  schooners  there 
offered  to  the  thirsty  are  not  to  be  compared  with  those  of  Santa  Fe.  I 
could  account  for  it  in  but  one  way,  namely,  the  climate  here  is  exceedingly 
dry,  and  to  moisten  the  throat  it  takes  a  large  quantity  of  fluid.  In  all 
my  travels  I  have  never  met  as  good  measure,  except  in  the  Hofbrau,  in 
Munich,  Bavaria,  where  his  Royal  Highness  the  King  furnishes  his  thirsty 
subjects  with  lager  at  so  much  a  "  stein." 


LETTERS  FROM  THE   SOUTHWEST.  79 

The  brick  blocks  that  surround  the  Plaza  are  mainly  occupied  by  the 
sons  of  Abraham.  Here  and  there  modern  churches  and  schools  tower 
above  the  low  adobe  houses.  The  cathedral,  which  is  not  yet  finished, 
occupies  the  site  of  the  first  Spanish  church,  and  with  the  Sanitarium — 
half  hospital,  half  hotel — is  on  our  left  ;  and  old  San  Miguel  with  its 
college,  the  convent  of  the  Sisters  of  Loretto  and  its  school,  bring  us 
gradually  to  the  Santa  Fe  River.  Following  the  river-bed  with  our  eyes  (we 
cannot  follow  the  stream,  because  there  is  little  or  no  water  in  it),  we  see  to 
the  right  and  left  fields  and  gardens  and  house  on  house  in  long  rows ; 
some  of  the  natural  color  of  the  ground,  others  whitewashed  and  shining 
brightly  in  the  sun.  On  the  hill-side  at  our  feet  we  look  into  the  rear  of  the 
houses,  and  few  are  without  wings  on  each  end,  connected  by  covered  spaces 
like  colonnades,  where  the  thrifty  housewives  can  be  seen,  busy  at  the 
washtub. 

The  Mexican  town  extends  along  the  Santa  Fe  valley  as  far  to  the  south 
as  you  can  see,  and  up  to  as  well  as  into  the  canon,  where  is  the  reservoir  in 
which  the  water  of  the  summer  freshets  (when  the  snow  melts  on  the  Santa 
Fe  range)  is  gathered  to  irrigate  the  valley.  The  Indian  school  is  in  sight 
at  the  southwest,  and  the  ruins  of  the  Capitol  building,  which  was  destroyed 
a  few  years  ago,  furnish  another  point  for  the  eye  to  rest  upon. 

I  have  often  wondered  why  in  all  the  towns  where  prisons  are  located 
the  inhabitants  point  with  pride  to  such  institutions.  Santa  Fe  has  its 
penitentiary,  and  it  is  shown  to  every  visitor  who  gets  in  sight  of  it. 

Orchards  with  budding  trees  surround  the  houses,  and  here  and  there 
you  can  see  the  irrigating  canals  winding  like  silver  threads  through  gardens 
and  fields. 

We  have  seen  Santa  Fe  in  bird's-eye  view  ;  now  let  us  step  down  and  see 
it  face  to  face. 

The  American  town  is  like  all  others  of  its  kind  :  brick  houses  two, 
three,  and  even  four  stories  high.  Most  of  the  old  adobe  churches  have 
been  improved  (?)  one  way  and  another,  so  that  they  are  no  longer  the 
antique  structures  I  had  seen  in  Juarez.  The  Mexican  himself  is  no  longer 
the  picturesque  figure  we  met  with  in  the  south.  He  has  adopted  the  hat, 
trousers,  and  coat  of  the  Americans,  and  you  can  see  his  counterpart  any 
time  you  take  the  trouble  to  look  at  the  Italians  in  our  town.  But  some 
color  is  given  to  the  place  by  the  presence  of  the  officers  and  soldiers  of 
the  post,  and  now  and  then  by  a  Pueblo  Indian  who  rides  or  walks  in  full 
dress  through  the  town. 

There  is  ' '  Buckskin  "  Charley  coming  down  the  street.  He  is  a  Namb6 
who  sells  Indian  curios  to  the  guests  at  the  hotels,  and  is  a  well-known 
character.  As  his  sobriquet  indicates,  he  wears  buckskin  leggings  and  orna- 


80  LETTERS   FROM  THE   SOUTHWEST. 

mented  moccasons.  He  sits  his  black  Indian  pony  as  straight  as  a  cavalier. 
His  beaded  sash  is  wound  around  his  waist,  and  his  black  hair  is  held  close 
to  his  head  by  a  red  ribbon. 

But  let  us  hurry  on  and  get  to  the  Plaza.  The  military  band  is  going 
to  play  soon,  and  we  shall  see  the  elite  of  Santa  Fe  in  coaches,  on  foot,  and 
on  horseback,  promenading  the  Plaza  and  the  streets  that  enclose  its  four 
sides. 

The  Governor's  Palace,  as  I  said  before,  is  on  one  side  of  the  square, 
and  the  pavilion  is  near  it.  From  the  soldiers'  monument  in  the  centre 


radiate  the  paths  lined  with  seats,  and  the  seats  are  filled  with  old  and 
young.  Sefloritas  promenade  in  twos  and  threes,  and  the  young  married 
couple  from  the  North,  who  are  on  their  wedding  trip,  find  a  seat,  not  con- 
spicuous, in  one  of  the  paths  that  run  at  right  angles  to  the  streets ;  they 
are  less  used  by  the  promenading  beauties.  Whole  families,  fathers,  mothers, 
and  children,  are  seated  among  the  listeners,  and  all  the  sunniest  seats  are 
filled  by  dark-skinned  Mexicans. 

In  the  surrounding  streets  carriages  drawn  by  stylish  horses  and  driven 
by  liveried  servants  keep  up  their  slow  walk  around  the  Plaza.  Others,  less 
pretentious,  follow  at  the  same  gait.  Gentlemen  on  horseback  join  in  the 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  81 

procession,  and  with  these  you  see  some  of  the  visitors  who  look  as  if  they 
had  never  been  on  horseback  before.  But  the  shining  light  in  all  this  parade 
is  the  young  lieutenant  who  has  just  come  from  West  Point,  and  who  is, 
by  common  consent,  pronounced  the  vainest  man  in  all  New  Mexico. 

But  let  us  take  a  seat  in  the  shade  of  one  of  these  old  cotton  woods.  The 
ground  is  covered,  not  with  grass,  but  with  bright  green  alfalfa.  The  band 
begins,  the  coaches  and  riders  gather  in  front  of  the  palace,  and  the  whole 
scene  is  like  a  dream.  I  have  never  listened  to  good  music  without  a  long- 
ing for  home,  so  I  will  stop  to  have  my  day-dreams,  and  we  will  continue 
our  walk  some  other  time. 


XXXI. 

SANTA  FE,  N.  M.,  May  18,  1893. 

LIKE  all  other  tourists,  we  shall  have  to  see  the  palace  first.  The  long 
colonnade  extending  from  Washington  to  Lincoln  Streets  forms  a  sidewalk 
in  front  of  the  building.  It  is,  no  doubt,  modern,  and  is  ornamented  on  the 
edge  of  the  cornice  with  a  low  railing,  which  makes  a  balcony  level  with  the 
roof.  The  western  end  of  this  building  is  used  as  a  post-office,  the  centre 
is  the  official  residence  of  his  Excellency  the  Governor  of  New  Mexico,  and 
the  eastern  end  is  occupied  by  the  Historical  Society.  We  will  look  into 
the  last  named. 

\\  r  first  notice  in  the  hallway  a  part  of  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  about  three 
feet  in  diameter  and  two  feet  long,  leaning  against  the  wall.  Looking  a 
little  closer,  we  discover  it  to  be  a  pet  rifled  tree  in  which  every  ring  and  fibre 
of  wood  has  been  replaced  by  solid  rock.  It  is  the  same  old  tree  as  when  it 
stretched  its  giant  branches  to  the  sky,  but  the  dead  stone  has  taken  the 
place  of  the  live  cells  through  which  the  life-giving  fluids  had  circulated 
long,  long  ago.  I  don't  know  but  that  this  old  stump,  as  a  memento  of 
past  ages,  was  very  properly  placed  at  the  entrance  to  rooms  where  the 
antiquarian  of  our  time  tries  to  preserve  the  relics  left  by  former  gener- 
ations. 

On  entering  the  room,  however,  we  feel  disappointed.  The  collection 
of  antiquities  is  very  unsatisfactory  :  a  few  cases  of  stone  weapons  used  by 
the  Indians  before  the  Spanish  conquest,  some  old  Indian  pottery,  and 
oil-paintings  taken  from  primitive  Indian  churches — no  doubt  the  work  of 
pious  monks — are  about  all  there  is.  And  the  whole  is  not  systematically 
arranged,  but  old  and  new  are  put  on  any  shelf  where  there  is  room. 

In  an  adjoining  room  is  a  collection  of  native  minerals  of  New  Mexico  ; 
gold  and  silver  ores,  soft  and  hard  coal,  and  even  native  coke,  are  repre- 
6 


82  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

sented.  But  all  these  specimens  are  heaped  on  the  shelves  in  the  same 
way  you  see  piles  of  stones  arranged  in  a  flower-bed  to  make  a  mound. 
A  register  is  kept  of  all  the  visitors  ;  so,  following  the  custom,  we  set  down 
our  names  and  residences,  and  with  ciyic  pride  put  Yonkers  (written 
large)  before  New  York. 

One  of  the  most  interesting  buildings,  next  to  the  palace,  is  an  old 
house  with  adobe  walls  four  or  five  feet  in  thickness,  which  is  claimed  to  be 
the  oldest  in  Santa  Fe.  It  is  also  said  that  its  present  inhabitant  and 
owner  is  a  direct  and  lineal  descendant  of  its  builder.  It  has  a  baking 
oven  in  front,  and  stands  on  one  of  the  narrow  streets  that  run  substantially 
parallel  to  and  west  of  the  Santa  Fe  Kiver,  which  we  had  crossed  dry- 
shod  to  reach  the  Spanish  part  of  the  town. 

There  is  some  difference  in  the  look  of  the  houses  as  compared  with 
those  of  El  Paso ;  namely,  their  extreme  neatness,  and  comfortable 
appearance.  We  hardly  see  a  window  without  clean  lace  curtains  and 
the  recess  filled  with  blooming  geraniums,  which  seem  to  be  the  favorite 
flower  here. 

Each  house  has  its  garden,  and  as  planting  time  is  at  hand,  every  one  is 
busy  throwing  up  the  ridges  which  form  dikes  around  the  garden-beds,  or 
carefully  directing  the  flow  of  the  water  to  spread  it  equally  over  the  sur- 
face of  each  bed,  in  order  to  insure  an  even  growth  of  the  grain  or  vegetable 
which  is  to  be  raised. 

The  old  orchards  are  in  bloom,  and  I  begin  to  think  that,  after  all, 
Santa  Fe  may  be  the  "  paradise  of  fruit  growers,"  as  I  found  it  called  in  a 
pamphlet  prepared  by  some  enterprising  land  speculator,  and  freely  distrib- 
uted among  the  visitors. 

About  a  mile  from  the  ruins  of  the  Capitol  (which  the  charitable  people 
of  the  city  declare  was  burned  down  by  the  people  of  Albuquerque  in  order 
to  have  the  capital  of  the  Territory  removed  to  their  town)  is  the  Indian 
training-school,  established  some  years  ago  by  the  United  States  govern- 
ment. 

A  large  brick  building  with  two  wings  contains  school-rooms  and  dormi- 
tories for  about  one  hundred  and  sixty  boys  and  girls.  These  are  all  ages, 
from  small  children  to  young  men  and  women  twenty  or  more  years  of  age. 
The  scholars  in  the  class-rooms  seemed  to  be  highly  interested  in  their 
studies,  and  the  superintendent  assured  me  that  their  mental  ability  was 
equal  to  that  of  white  children  of  the  same  age.  There  are  Pueblo,  Navajo, 
and  Apache  children  all  toiling  together  under  the  same  roof,  and  the  boys 
and  girls — the  boys  in  military  uniform  and  the  girls  in  neat  dresses — showed 
their  training  when  marching  in  the  procession  at  the  inauguration  of  the 
new  governor. 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


83 


Since  I  have  been  in  this  neighborhood  I  have  often  thought  how  nice 
it  would  be  if  I  knew  some  Spanish.  When  I  went  to  Juarez  to  see  the 
lottery  drawing  under  the  supervision  of  Colonel  Mosby,  the  lucky  numbers 
were  first  called  out  in  Spanish,  and  then,  in  stentorian  tones  by  the 
colonel,  in  English.  All  legal  notices  in  New 
Mexico  have  to  be  given  in  Spanish  and  Eng- 
lish, and  when  the  new  governor  made  his 
inaugural  speech  an  interpreter  translated 
each  sentence,  as  it  was  delivered,  into 
Spanish. 

This  continent  is  inhabited,  in  the  main,  by 
English-  and  Spanish-speaking  peoples,  and  it 
looks  to  me,  if  any  foreign  language  is  of  im- 
portance to  the  English-speaking  American,  it 
is  the  Spanish  ;  and  I  hope  you  will  see  if, 
somehow  or  other,  you  can  get  for  this  most 
important  of  languages  a  place  in  the  curric- 
ulum of  our  schools. 

One  feature  of  the  Indian  school  that  de- 
serves special  mention  is  that  each  boy  is 
taught  some  trade.  There  is  a  carpenter  shop, 
a  blacksmith  shop,  tailoring  and  shoemaking; 
and  a  hr-v  area  of  the  prairie  en  which  the 
school-buildings  stand  is  highly  cultivated. 
All  the  work  is  done  by  the  pupils  under  com- 
petent instructors.  The  girls  are  equally  well 
taken  care  of,  and  those  of  the  pupils  who  are 
promoted  are  sent  to  Carlisle  to  finish  their 
education. 

I  met  a  young  Apache  boy  who  has  been  £r 

in  the  Indian  school  for  four  years  and  who 

expects  to  go  to  Carlisle  shortly.     His  brother  is  one  of  the  medicine  men 
of  his  tribe,  and  he  intends  to  study  medicine  as  the  white  men  practise  it. 


XXXII. 

SANTA  FE,  N.  M.,  May  20,  1893. 

AT  last  the  weather  has  taken  a  turn  for  the  better.  The  wind  has 
stopped  filling  the  air  with  sand,  and  we  have  made  arrangements  to  visit  the 
nearest  Pueblo  Indian  village  to  see  what  the  real  Indian  looks  like  at  home. 


84  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

We  have  a  Yonkers  colony  here ;  two-thirds  of  my  partner's  family  and 
one- third  (the  biggest,  however)  of  my  own.  It  is  unnecessary  for  me  to 
introduce  the  travellers,  as  you  are  acquainted  with  them  all,  except  the 
artist  who  is  the  leader  in  our  excursion.  He  bears  the  same  relation  to 
Yonkers  that  a  witty  friend  of  mine  declared,  on  a  certain  occasion,  I  held 
to  the  State  of  Maine. 

Several  years  ago  some  sons  of  the  Puritans  among  my  acquaintance 
remembered  that  they  had  had  forefathers,  and  concluded  to  celebrate  Fore- 
fathers' Day  with  a  New  England  dinner.  Your  humble  servant  was 
invited,  as  he  supposed,  to  show  the  difference  between  the  sons  of  the  early 
immigrants  and  the  immigrants  of  the  present  day.  But  I  found  myself  at 
home  at  once  when  my  friend  introduced  me  to  the  company  as  a  son-in- 
law  of  the  State  of  Maine. 

The  trip  toTesuque  is  easily  made  in  one  day,  and  we  will  select  Sunday, 
as  it  is  a  gala  day  in  an  Indian  village.  Our  company  is  a  lively  one.  The 
boys  and  girls  on  horseback  take  the  lead,  while  the  old  folks  follow  in 
carnages.  Ours  is  drawn  by  two  excellent  ponies,  named  George  Washing- 
ton and  Dolly  Varden  respectively,  who  travel  along  at  a  lively  gait. 

As  we  leave  the  Federal  building  behind  us,  we  enter  a  valley  in  the  foot- 
hills overshadowed  by  the  Santa  Fe  range,  which,  in  turn,  is  overlooked  by 
the  snow-clad  peak  of  old  "Baldy." 

Let  us  take  a  glance  at  the  country  we  are  travelling  through.  Upon 
the  hills  on  our  right  and  left,  stunted  pines,  and  juniper  bushes  of  a  deep 
green,  have  taken  the  place  of  the  pale  sage  brush  of  the  prairie.  The 
mountain  sides  are  covered  with  a  richer  growth  of  pines,  through  which 
the  white  snow  is  just  visible  in  the  less  dense  parts  of  the  forest ;  but  not  a 
blade  of  grass  or  other  green  thing  is  to  be  seen  between  the  bushes  ;  nothing 
but  loose  sand  everywhere  upon  the  surface  of  the  ground. 

As  we  move  along  the  valley,  we  find  that  it  is  intersected  by  deep 
gullies,  which  have  been  cut  out  by  the  heavy  rains  that  at  times  fall  in 
this  region  like  cloudbursts.  As  we  gradually  approach  the  level  of  the 
foot-hills — the  divide  between  the  watersheds  of  the  Santa  Fe  and  the 
Tesuque  rivers — the  valley  narrows. 

The  artist  calls  a  halt  when  we  reach  the  highest  point  of  the  divide, 
and  before  our  eyes,  under  a  deep  blue  sky,  is  a  panorama  that  few  others 
can  compare  with  in  any  part  of  the  world. 

On  our  right  the  Santa  Fe  Mountains  extend  in  an  apparently  unbroken 
chain  for  many  miles.  On  our  left,  but  at  a  much  greater  distance,  another 
chain  of  mountains,  delicafc*  as  a  veil,  and  dotted  here  and  there  by 
patches  of  snow  that  shimmer  in  the  bright  sunlight,  is  just  visible  in  the 
blue  mist.  In  the  foreground  the  foot-hills  with  their  deep  green,  broken 


l\ 


17. 


LETTERS    FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  85 

by  the  cliff-like  rocks  that  project  above  them,  extend  to  the  point  where 
the  two  ranges  seem  to  meet.  And,  away  off  in  the  distance,  a  black  butte, 
with  its  level  top  and  vertical  sides,  looks  like  a  mountain  surmounted  by 
a  fortress.  Not  a  trace  of  the  presence  of  man  is  in  sight,  except  the  road 
leading  down  into  the  next  valley. 

But  we  have  seen  only  a  part  of  the  picture ;  on  turning  around  and 
looking  toward  the  south  we  have  a  landscape  of  a  different  type.  We 
can  just  make  out  the  steeples  of  the  churches  in  Santa  Fe,  and  the  flag- 
staff with  the  flag  flying  on  the  parade  ground  of  Fort  Marcy  ;  and,  beyond, 
the  level  prairie  with  scant  gray  vegetation,  extending  toward  far  distant 
hills  colored  a  deep  green.  We  see  the  valley  of  the  Santa  F6  River,  with  its 
long  line  of  adobe  houses  reaching  to  the  point  where  the  stream  disappears 
among  the  hills  at  the  right ;  and  the  Cerillos  Mountains  which  close  in 
the  view.  This  landscape,  bathed  in  bright  morning  sunlight,  softened  by 
haze  in  the  distance,  presents  a  picture  never  to  be  forgotten. 

I  have  seen  paintings  of  mountain  scenery  by  the  most  celebrated  artists, 
and  have  often  wondered  at  their  strange  coloring  ;  yet  this  view  at  our 
feet  displayed  colors  that  no  artist  will  ever  reproduce  on  canvas,  be  he 
ever  so  skilful  in  the  use  of  palette  and  brush. 

The  young  people  have  not  waited  for  the  old  folks,  who  are  admiring 
the  beauty  of  the  scene,  and  we  see  them  trotting  along  away  down  in  the 
v;ilk  v,  now  in  plain  sight,  and  disappearing  again  and  again  behind  the 
bushes  by  the  wayside. 

The  bed  of  the  Tesuque  River,  like  that  of  all  the  streams  we  have  seen 
in  New  Mexico,  is  in  a  canon  cut  deep  into  the  clay  that  fills  the  valleys, 
and  the  little  stream  of  water  that  we  find  seems  out  of  all  proportion  to 
its  wide  bed;  yet  at  times,  and  not  very  seldom  either,  the  floods  swell 
the  river,  and  carve  deep  lines  in  the  high  banks  on  either  side. 

As  we  near  the  canon  of  the  river,  a  Mexican  settlement  comes  into  view 
on  our  right.  An  adobe  church,  with  its  front  and  belfry  whitewashed 
(the  rest  of  the  edifice  being  the  color  of  the  soil),  forms  the  centre  of  a 
cluster  of  adobe  houses  surrounded  by  fields  and  orchards,  the  latter  just 
beginning  to  show  the  first  leaves  and  blossoms.  Our  road  leads  down  into 
the  river-bed  and  out  again  on  the  opposite  side,  then  up  a  steep  incline  to 
the  level  land  above.  The  water  of  the  river  is  carried  by  a  canal  near  the 
foot  of  the  hills,  at  a  higher  level  than  the  river  bottom.  Adobe  houses  in 
the  midst  of  fruit  trees  and  fields  are  scattered  along  the  hill-side  at  our 
right. 

Now  we  cross  a  level  plain  and  pass  some  fruit  ranches  where  the  adobe 
is  replaced  by  the  modern  brick  dwelling,  with  a  bay  window  made  into  a 
veritable  greenhouse  filled  with  flowers  in  full  bloom.  Neat  fences  take  the 


86  LETTERS  FEOM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

place  of  the  rough  ones  made  of  cotton  wood  branches,  such  as  we  saw  in 
the  Mexican  settlement,  and  brick  barns  and  stables  succeed  the  low  adobe 
out-houses. 

Here  the  road  follows  the  curves  and  bends  of  the  river,  now  skirting  a 
ploughed  field,  then  a  field  covered  with  the  stubble  of  last  year's  wheat  crop, 
and  again  winding  over  a  dry  plain  thickly  set  with  dwarfed  pine  and  low 
sage  bushes.  We  cross  many  deep  gullies,  or  arroyos,  and  occasionally  an 
irrigating  canal  which  furnishes  water  to  the  cultivated  fields. 

One  view  will  leave  an  indelible  impression  on  my  memory.  When  I  left 
El  Paso  I  had  decided  to  exchange  the  pen  for  the  brush,  and  here,  before 
me  on  the  road,  to  Tesuque,  I  find  the  very  scene  to  immortalize  on  canvas. 
As  we  descend  into  an  arroyo  that  leads  down  to  the  gully  of  the  Tesuque 
Eiver  it  flashes  upon  our  sight. 

In  the  foreground  on  our  right  is  an  ancient  cotton  wood  tree  on  the 
edge  of  the  river-bed.  The  rill  of  water  is  lined  with  alkali,  white  as  the 
driven  snow  and  interspersed  with  green  plots  of  grass  on  which  a  number 
of  burros  are  feeding.  The  far  side  of  the  river  bottom  is  lined  with  green 
shoots  of  cotton  wood,  and  behind  these  ploughed  fields  extend  up  the  side  of 
the  hill.  On  a  plateau  half  way  up  the  hill-side  are  a  number  of  adobe 
houses  flanked  by  lots  fenced  with  brush  ;  these  in  turn  are  surrounded  by 
stunted  pine  and  juniper  bushes  scattered  over  the  sandy  soil  to  the  top  of 
the  hill,  where  a  rough  cross  planted  in  a  pile  of  loose  stones  marks  the  place 
where  some  unfortunate  traveller  has  perished. 

It  is  a  picturesque  spot,  containing  in  a  small  compass  all  the  character- 
istics of  the  valley  :  the  deep  cut  which  forms  the  river-bed,  the  cultivated 
fields  and  orchards,  the  adobe  houses  of  that  region,  and  the  sombre 
cross  projected  on  the  sky  indicating  both  the  faith  and  lawlessness  of  the 
inhabitants. 

The  picture  is  not  painted,  and  probably  never  will  be,  unless  some  day, 
when  I  have  nothing  else  to  do,  I  should  paint  it  from  memory. 

Wre  leave  this  place  behind  us,  and,  after  some  miles  travel,  Ed  points 
out  a  white  spot  on  the  other  side  of  the  Tesuque.  As  we  approach  it  we  can 
distinguish  the  whitewashed  belfry  of  a  little  church  in  the  Indian  pueblo. 
The  river  bottom  is  now  nearly  a  quarter  of  a  mile  wide,  and  cattle  and 
goats  are  frequently  seen  feeding  on  the  green  grass  in  the  river-bed.  Our 
road  leads  diagonally  across  it ;  the  church  steeple  and  the  dark  gray 
adobes  become  more  distinct  as  we  approach.  On  the  left  bank  of  the  river 
are  orchards  in  full  bloom.  Old  trees,  testifying  to  the  age  of  the  settle- 
ment, shade  the  houses.  On  top  of  the  bluff  we  cross  an  irrigating  canal, 
and  between  rows  of  trees,  with  ploughed  fields  on  either  hand,  enter  the 
pueblo  of  Tesuque. 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  87 

At  the  entrance  to  the  village  we  pass  a  small  house,  in  front  of  which 
a  number  of  squaws  are  busily  engaged  making  their  youngsters  present- 
able. The  long  black  hair  of  the  boys  and  girls,  dripping  wet,  shines  in 
the  sun.  The  women  are  already  dressed  in  their  national  costume,  and  by 
their  behavior  it  is  plain  that  a  visit  from  strangers  is  nothing  new.  We  pass 
the  rear  of  the  church,  with  its  graveyard  enclosed  by  an  adobe  wall.  Here 
and  there  simple  wooden  crosses  mark  the  resting  places  of  former  generations. 

The  arrival  of  our  party  naturally  creates  some  excitement  in  the  village. 
Numerous  dogs  rush  out,  barking  and  yelping  at  the  strangers;  the  inhab- 
itants step  to  the  doors  to  see  what  is  going  on,  and  the  boys  and  girls 
gather  around  our  party.  The  horses  are  tied  to  a  manger  that  is  sup- 
ported by  forked  sticks,  and  our  inspection'  of  the  village  begins.  I  will 
first  try  to  give  you  a  ground  plan  of  the  place,  and  then  a  more  detailed 
description. 

The  pneblo  proper  encloses  an  oblong  plaza,  the  little  church  and  the 
governor's  house  taking  up  one  side  ;  the  other  sides  of  the  square  are 
occupied  by  an  unbroken  line  of  two-story  adnhe  houses,  some  of  which  are 
whitewashed,  but  most  are  of  the  color  of  the  soil. 

In  my  letters  I  have  often  attempted  to  give  you  a  description  of  the 
.Mexican  adobes,  but  an  Indian  pueblo  bears  very  little  resemblance  to  them, 
except  as  to  color.  The  style  of  building  we  see  here  evidently  dates  back 
to  the  time  when  the  square  village  furnished  the  best  means  of  defence 
against  the  wild  Xavajos  and  Apaches,  who,  from  time  immemorial,  have 
robbed  and  plundered  the  peaceful  village  Indians. 

The  outside  of  the  square  building — a  vertical  wall  two  stories  high — 
could  be  easily  defended,  and  the  square  enclosed,  should  an  enemy  obtain 
entrance,  presents  an  equally  good  protection  against  attack. 

The  village  house  is  two  stories  high,  but  the  side  facing  the  enclosure 
is  only  one  story  high,  and  a  roof,  or  gallery,  covering  about  one-third  of 
the  lower  floor,  extends  all  around  the  front.  The  wall  which  separates 
the  first  row  of  rooms  is  carried  up  two  stories,  and  so  are  the  third  and 
rear  walls,  forming,  as  it  were,  three  rows  of  rooms  on  the  ground  and  two 
on  the  second  story. 

As  we  now  see  the  buildings,  the  rooms  on  the  lower  floor  are  entered 
from  the  court,  and  those  on  the  second  floor  from  the  gallery ;  but  in 
olden  times  those  on  the  ground  floor  were  also  entered  from  above. 

To  reach  the  gallery  they  have  a  number  of  ladders  made  of  rough 
timber  and  long  enough  to  extend  six  or  eight  feet  above  it ;  they  lean,  at 
intervals,  in  front  of  and  against  each  dwelling.  The  rungs,  being  from 
sixteen  to  eighteen  inches  apart,  are  not  the  most  convenient  of  stairs  to 
climb,  and  I  was  very  much  amused  at  the  sight  of  two  squaws  helping  a 


88 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


little  girl  of  three  or  four  years  up  one  of  these  ladders.  The  squaw  above, 
having  hold  of  one  of  the  child's  hands,  was  pulling,  and  the  one  below  was 
pushing,  while  the  little  one  hung  on  like  a  spider  to  a  web,  but  was  hardly 
able  to  reach  from  rung  to  rung. 

Our  arrival,  as  was  said  before,  brings  the  greater  part  of  the  population 
to  the  doors  and  the  edge  of  the  gallery.  We  make  our  first  call  on  the 
governor  of  the  pueblo  at  his  house,  which  is  next  to  the  church  and 


separated  from  the  main  building  by  one  of  the  entrances.  He  has  just 
completed  his  toilet.  His  coal-black  hair  is  cut  in  the  shape  of  a  bang  on 
his  forehead,  and  the  rest  hangs  like  the  mane  of  a  pony  on  each  side  of 
his  face  down  to  his  belt.  He  wears  buckskin  leggings  and  a  flannel  shirt, 
and  speaks  English  fairly.  As  we  enter  his  dwelling  the  first  objects  to 
attract  our  attention  are  three  curved  stones  on  which  the  squaws,  even  of 
this  day,  grind  the  corn  for  their  bread. 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  89 

In  a  roomy  fire-place  is  a  girl  in  Indian  dress,  including  leggings,  her  long 
hair  almost  covering  her  backdown  to  the  waist,  baking  tortillas  (corn-cakes) 
on  a  heated  stone.  On  the  earthen  floor  the  skin  of  a  cow  is  spread,  and 
upon  it  lie  the  remains  of  the  carcass  of  a  heifer,  around  which  a  small, 
snarling  cur  is  prowling,  but  he  does  not  seem  to  dare  to  help  himself  to  it. 

Adjoining  is  the  living  and  bod-room,  lighted  at  the  extreme  end  by  a 
small  window.  It  has  a  small  fire-place  in  the  centre,  on  one  side  of  which 
is  a  settee  made  of  a  number  of  rolled-up  blankets,  and  on  them  sits  the 
wife  of  the  governor,  nursing  her  pappoose.  Two  older  people  are  seated 
near  her,  and  a  number  of  youngsters  who  have  entered  with  us  help  to  fill 
the  low  room.  In  one  corner  we  notice  a  beam  suspended  from  the  ceiling, 
on  which  is  displayed  the  finery  of  the  family,  consisting  of  various  articles 
of  Indian  manufacture,  such  as  squaw  dresses,  Navajo  blankets,  and  belts 
and  sashes  of  divers  colors.  Our  host  exhibits  a  number  of  war  clubs,  loaded 
with  a  stone  at  the  butt  end  and  ornamented  with  horse  tails  at  the  other, 
which  he  offers  for  sale. 

The  two  rooms  are  as  clean  as  a  pin  and  neatly  whitewashed,  and,  after 
\vt-  have  made  some  purchases,  we  are  shown  into  a  third — evidently  a  store- 
room— where  dried  meat  and  hides  of  cattle  and  goats  are  hanging  from 
the  ceiling.  One  of  the  squaws  brings  out  a  big  basket  full  of  idols  made  of 
Itakcd  day,  and  another  basket  filled  with  small  pots  and  plates,  from  which 
we  make  some  selections,  and  then  step  out  to  visit  the  main  building. 

In  the  square  we  find  two  or  three  dozen  Indian  children,  some  of  them 
having  pappooses  wrapped  in  blankets  or  rags  tied  to  their  backs.  The  edge 
of  the  gallery  is  lined  with  men,  women,  and  children,  most  of  them  as  well 
dressed  as  those  we  saw  at  Ysleta.  Bright  colors  predominate,  and  one 
young  squaw  reminds  me  of  a  picture  of  "  Rebecca  at  the  Well "  that  I  had 
admired  so  often  when  a  boy — it  was  in  an  old  Bible.  The  picture  repre- 
sented a  young  woman  with  an  earthen  jar  gracefully  balanced  on  her  head. 
Just  as  we  step  out  of  the  goveronr's  house  we  see  a  young  squaw  passing — 
evidently  just  returning  from  the  irrigating  canal — with  an  urn-shaped  jar 
upon  her  head.  Approaching  one  of  the  ladders,  she  ascends  it,  keeping  the 
jar  balanced,  and  walks  along  the  gallery  to  one  of  the  doors,  where,  taking 
hold  of  the  jar  with  both  hands,  she  lifts  it  off  and  then  enters. 

We  are  invited  to  visit  the  artist  who  makes  the  idols.  He  goes  to 
work  for  our  benefit  to  show  us  how  it  is  done,  and  I  must  sav  it  is  re- 

•/ 

markable  how  quickly  the  lump  of  clay  in  his  hands  assumes  the  quaint 
shape  of  the  conventional  Pueblo  Indian  idol,  with  its  large  head  and  open 
mouth,  its  short  arms  holding  a  little  pot,  and  its  crooked  legs  encircling 
the  bottom.  The  room  is  well  lighted  and  whitewashed,  and  the  rear 
wall  ornamented  with  pictures  of  the  Crucifixion  and  the  saints. 


90  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

As  we  want  some  Indian  vases,  we  will  climb  one  of  the  ladders  and 
enter  the  rooms  above.  Here  an  old  squaw  exhibits  a  lot  of  her  ware, 
assisted  by  a  younger  one,  evidently  her  daughter,  who  speaks  a  little 
English.  We  price  some  of  the  wares,  and  the  young  squaw  offers  them 
for  a  "  quarter" ;  but  when  we  agree  to  take  them  at  that  figure,  the  old 
woman  says  something,  either  in  Pueblo  or  Spanish,  to  the  younger  one, 
and  taking  hold  of  the  vase,  says  :  "Half  a  dollar."  She  has  raised  the 
price,  but  we  carry  them  off  at  that  figure. 

In  another  house  we  are  shown  some  squaw  dresses  of  their  own 
weaving,  such  as  they  wear  at  their  dances  ;  but  these  are  not  for  sale,  being 
heirlooms  that  date  back  for  generations  in  the  families  of  their  owners. 

Almost  every  house  is  provided  with  an  oven  for  baking  bread  and 
pottery.  They  are  usually  located  before  the  house,  or  on  the  gallery  in 
front  of  the  entrances  to  the  rooms  in  the  second  story,  and  they  look 
like  clay  bee-hives  of  mammoth  dimensions. 

The  village  and  the  people  give  an  impression  of  contentment  and  thrift 
such  as  I  have  never  received  elsewhere,  and  the  cleanliness  of  the  people 
and  the  houses  is  the  direct  opposite  of  what  one  might  expect  from  the 
descriptions  given  by  those  who  had  visited  some  of  the  tribes  farther  north. 

This  pueblo  contains  from  fifty  to  sixty  people,  who  cultivate  their  land 
and  raise  cattle,  goats,  and  burros,  like  their  Mexican  neighbors,  but  retain 
with  the  utmost  tenacity  the  habits  and  customs  of  their  forefathers. 

After  a  stay  of  some  hours  we  start  on  our  return,  making  a  halt  after 
crossing  the  Tesuque  River,  as  the  horses  must  be  watered  and  the  travellers 
also  feel  the  need  of  some  refreshment.  Our  carriage  has  been  well  stocked 
with  provisions,  so  we  will  sit  down  on  the  bank  of  the  stream,  with  the 
gray  Indian  adobe  before  us,  flanked  by  blooming  orchards  on  the  right 
and  left,  and  the  high  Santa  Fe  range  behind  us,  and  we  will  enjoy  the 
view  and  the  lunch  in  equal  proportions. 


XXXIII. 

SANTA  FE,  N.  M.,  May  19,  1893. 

As  our  trip  to  Tesuque,  and  the  sights  we  saw,  simply  served  to  increase 
our  interest  in  the  Pueblo  Indians,  San  Ildefonso,  another  pueblo  twenty- 
four  miles  away,  in  the  valley  of  the  Rio  Grande,  was  selected  as  our  next 
point  to  visit. 

A  few  days  before  we  started  on  this  trip  I  had  made  the  acquaintance 
of  one  Facundo  Sanchez  and  his  family,  who  had  given  all  of  us  a  cordial 
invitation  to  visit  them  at  their  home  in  San  Ildefonso. 


LETTERS    FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  91 

The  house  of  Mr.  Deraing,  the  artist,  is  a  sort  of  headquarters  for  all 
the  Indians  who  visit  Santa  Fe.  He  has  lived  with  the  Indians  for  years  in 
the  Northwest,  and  has  also,  as  he  says,  been  a  "boarder"  in  Sitting  Bull's 
tepee  for  a  whole  hunting  season;  and  his  opinion  of  the  Indian  differs 
slightly  from  that  expressed  by  General  Sherman.  Ed  is  an  enthusiastic 
admirer  of  the  red  man,  and  looks  upon  the  treatment  of  his  red  brothers  as 
the  greatest  crime  ever  committed  by  our  government. 

Sanchez  had  two  sons  in  the  Indian  school,  and  was  on  a  visit  with  his 
wife  and  pappoose  to  see  the  youngsters.  AVlion  I  entered  the  room  where 
lie  and  his  family  were  seated,  I  was  particularly  struck  with  the  pleasant 
reception  I  had  from  both  Sanchez  and  his  wife.  They  knew  that  they 
were  in  the  house  of  a  friend,  and  felt  as  much  at  ease  as  if  they  were  in 
their  own  home  at  San  Ildefonso.  They  were  dressed  in  their  national  cos- 
tume, and  the  smiling  face  of  the  mother,  although  she  understood  not  one 
word  of  English,  bore  as  pleased  a  look  when  we  noticed  the  little  pappoose 
as  would  that  of  the  most  cultivated  white  woman. 

The  Pueblo  Indian  has  long  since  passed  the  stage  where  the  women  are 
simply  the  servants  and  beasts  of  burden  of  the  "masters  of  creation.*'  He 
tills  the  ground  and  tends  the  cattle  while  the  squaw  takes  care  of  the  house 
and  the  children. 

The  two  Indian  boys  were  dressed  like  white  boys  and  looked  bright  and 
intelligent,  and  they  took  a  great  deal  of  interest  in  the  pain  tings  of  Indian 
scenes  scattered  about  the  room. 

Among  the  Indian  curiosities  were  a  bow  and  a  quiver  filled  with  arrows, 
which  at  once  attracted  their  attention.  They  took  them  from  the  hook, 
and  the  elder  boy  tested  the  bow  with  his  fingers.  In  the  rear  of  the  house 
is  a  yard,  and  to  please  the  boys  as  well  as  ourselves  we  threw  out  a  paste- 
board box  a  distance  of  forty  feet,  and  watched  with  interest  while  they 
shot  at  it.  The  box  was  not  more  than  six  inches  square,  yet  twice  out  of 
three  times  the  elder  boy  would  send  his  arrow  through  it,  while  I  could 
barely  succeed  in  shooting  an  arrow  as  far  as  the  box. 

Sanchez  spoke  English  well,  so  during  luncheon  and  afterward  I  talked 
with  him  about  village  government,  the  crops,  and  irrigation  on  the  reser- 
vation, and  found  him  an  intelligent  and  well-informed  man.  He  now 
tendered  his  invitation,  which  was  of  course  accepted,  and  early  one  morn- 
ing shortly  afterward  we  started  on  our  journey. 

The  trip  being  too  long  to  admit  of  taking  the  ladies,  our  party  was 
reduced  to  four.  Our  carriage  was  drawn  by  the  two  trusty  ponies,  "George 
Washington "  and  "Dolly  Varden."  The  artist  and  the  amateur  cow-boy 
occupied  the  front  seat,  and  my  venerable  partner  and  myself  the  back  one. 

The  road  to  San  Ildefonso  is  the  same  one  that  we  travelled  over  when 


92  LETTEKS   FEOM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

going  to  Tesuque,  but  we  stayed  on  the  right  side  of  the  river,  leaving 
Tesnque  on  the  left.  The  valley  begins  to  widen  here,  and  we  see  the  indus- 
trious Pueblos  ploughing  their  fields  and  attending  to  their  irrigating  canals. 

A  field  as  level  as  a  table,  with  a  bare-headed  Indian  holding  in  a  fur- 
row a  wooden  plough  of  primitive  construction  drawn  by  a  burro,  is  a  novel 
picture  to  a  traveller  who  has  heard  all  his  life  of  the  Indian  only  as  a  wild 
man  of  the  woods,  with  tomahawk  in  hand,  scalps  in  his  belt,  and  murder 
in  his  eye. 

The  Tesuque  reservation  is  quite  extensive.  Good  farming  and  grazing 
lands  are  on  either  side  of  the  river-bed  and  in  the  arroyos  in  the  Santa  Fe 
Mountains.  But  as  we  move  on,  the  country  becomes  wild,  the  mountains 
recede,  the  valley  broadens  ;  red  sandstone,  fantastically  carved,  lines  the 
hill-sides  or  projects  above  the  pine-covered  hillocks.  The  plain  in  the 
valley  assumes  to  a  greater  or  less  extent  the  characteristics  of  the  prairie. 

Before  we  started  from  Santa  Fe  we  had  equipped  our  carriage  for  a 
trip  in  the  wilderness.  Eifles,  shot-guns,  and  revolvers  formed  the  arma- 
ment, and  in  cans,  bottles,  and  bundles  we  carried  our  provisions.  The 
younger  men  were  on  the  outlook  for  game,  but  had  so  far  been  unsuccess- 
ful, when  two  owls,  of  the  kind  that  live  with  the  prairie-dogs  and  the  rattle- 
snakes, flew  up  on  our  right.  Both  the  artist  and  the  cow-boy  jumped  from 
the  carriage  to  kill  them.  The  artist  was  ahead,  and  with  two  shots  from 
his  gun  slew  both  birds,  and  thus  added  two  more  specimens  to  the  collec- 
tion of  the  cow-boy. 

But  imagine  our  excitement  when  what  we  all  thought  to  be  a  gray 
wolf  crossed  our  path.  Our  road  was  leading  up  a  gentle  incline  between 
two  hills,  when  this  animal  crossed  it  a  short  distance  before  our  horses. 
He  had  evidently  been  over  to  the  valley  to  get  some  breakfast,  and  was  on 
his  way  to  his  lair  in  one  of  the  gullies  or  arroyos  when  we  saw  him.  I  tell 
you  he  looked  handsome  as  he  trotted  off  and  disappeared  behind  the  low 
sand  hill  on  our  right. 

Carl  grasped  his  rifle  and  jumped  out  on  one  side,  Ed  his  revolver  and 
jumped  out  on  the  other,  and  even  my  partner  took  his  gun  and  ran  after 
the  wolf.  (Henry  had  been  a  great  hunter  when  a  boy,  and  I  guess  his  old 
love  for  hunting  returned  and  carried  him  off.)  All  at  once  I  found  my- 
self alone.  All  three  had  disappeared  over  the  knoll.  I  heard  a  sort  of  a 
thud,  but  could  not  believe  it  was  a  shot,  so  I  took  it  easy.  The  sun  was 
shining  brightly  on  the  sand,  the  supply  of  liquid  provisions  was  ample,  and 
as  I  never  had  any  ambition  in  that  line,  I  felt  entirely  satisfied  to  sit  there 
as  quartermaster  and  let  the  others  chase  the  wolf. 

And  this  reminds  me  of  an  incident  of  my  boyhood  which  may  have 
something  to  do  with  my — aversion,  I  was  going  to  say — to  killing  things. 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


93 


When  I  was  a  boy  ten  or  twelve  years  old  we  had  in  our  little  village  as 
minister  an  enthusiastic  botanist.  He  was  also  a  great  French  scholar, 
and  for  a  number  of  years  he  tried,  very  unsuccessfully  however,  to  ham- 
mer French  grammar  into  my  cranium.  I  suppose  he  did  the  best  he 
could  in  that  line  ;  but  when  it  came  to  the  flowers  in  the  fields  and  the 
birds  in  the  woods,  his  lessons  bore  more  fruit  than  in  the  other  line.  I 
began  to  collect  plants,  birds'  eggs,  and  insects ;  and  when,  later  on,  I 
received  instruction  in  the  art  of  stuffing  birds  and  beasts,  my  natural  his- 
tory collection  took  all  my  spare  time,  and  even  during  vacation  I  was 
busy  from  morning  till  night  arranging  and  perfecting  it.  I  bothered  all 


my  friends  to  shoot 
specimens  for  me  to 
stuff,  until  one  day, 
when  my  father  was 
going  to  the  woods,  he 
said  :  "  Why  don't 
YOU  shoot  your  own 
specimens  ?  "  This  was 
an  idea  that  had  never 

occurred  to  me,  so  I  took  a  single-barrelled  shotgun  I  had  owned  for  years 
and  went  along. 

The  valley  in  which  our  little  farming  village  nestled  was  enclosed  by 
hills  covered  with  thriving  vineyards  at  the  foot  and  low  brushwood  on 
the  top.  The  first  bird  I  saw,  a  lark,  was  perched  upon  a  pole  to  which 
the  grapevines  cling.  I  fired  and  killed  it.  My  excitement  was  so  great 
that  I  dropped  the  gun,  picked  up  the  bird,  and  running  to  my  father 
showed  it  to  him.  "  Where  is  your  gun  ?  "  he  asked  ;  after  some  search- 
ing I  found  it  in  the  bushes  where  I  had  fired  at  the  lark. 

The  gun  was  reloaded,  and  we  started  on.  After  a  while  I  noticed  a 
chippy  hopping  about  in  a  low  green  bush,  and  concluded  to  bag  it  also.  I 
fired  and  hit  the  bird,  but  did  not  kill  it.  I  had  shattered  both  wings  and 


94  LETTERS   FKOM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

mortally  wounded  it,  no  doubt ;  but  as  I  took  it  up  in  my  hands  it  looked 
at  me  with  such  mournful  eyes  that  I  have  never  forgotten  it,  and  it  was 
the  last  time  I  ever  fired  at  or  killed  a  bird. 

But  to  return  to  the  wolf  hunt.  Soon  things  got  to  be  tiresome,  and  I 
concluded  to  follow  the  footprints  of  the  wolf  up  the  hill.  They  were 
plainly  to  be  seen  in  the  loose  sand,  and  he  must  have  been  a  big  fellow.  I 
followed  the  trail  up  the  hill  and  around  the  top  for  about  one  hundred 
yards,  when  all  trace  of  it  disappeared.  I  marked  the  last  footprint,  and 
then  pursued  the  tactics  of  the  Indian,  of  whose  sagacity  I  had  read  so 
much,  and  circled  around  the  mark  at  a  short  distance,  examining  the  sand ; 
but  no  more  footprints  could  I  find,  and  I  gave  it  up  as  a  bad  job  and  sat 
down  on  top  of  a  sandstone  butte  that  projected  above  the  hill.  There, 
right  in  front  of  me,  were  the  hills  and  arroyos  of  the  Santa  Fe  range,  and 
way  on  top,  some  hundreds  of  feet  above  me,  the  form  of  a  solitary  hunter, 
looking,  as  I  had,  for  a  trace  of  our  wolf. 

All  at  once  I  heard  a  shout.  A  long  distance  off  the  artist  and  the 
cow-boy  had  spied  me  from  the  top  of  a  sandy  butte.  They  had  found  the 
wolf  dead  under  a  juniper  bush  half  a  mile  away.  At  the  spot  where  I  had 
been  looking  for  the  wolf,  he  had  been  shot  by  Carl  with  his  rifle,  and  the 
jump  he  made  when  hit  had  carried  him  so  far  that  I  lost  all  truce  of  him. 

The  hunters  with  their  trophy  came  along  after  a  while,  puffing  and 
blowing  like  porpoises.  The  hot  sun  and  thin  atmosphere  had  taken  away 
their  breath  ;  and,  what  was  worse,  the  gray  wolf  turned  out  to  be  a  coyote, 
a  much  smaller  and  less  ferocious  animal,  but,  still,  game  not  to  be 
despised. 

While  the  hunters  followed  the  wolf,  and  I  sat  on  the  sandstone  butte, 
a  lot  of  Mexicans  had  passed  our  carriage,  and  I  did  not  notice  them  until 
they  had  gone  some  distance  beyond  it.  When  the  hunters  returned  and 
in  great  distress  inquired  for  the  "Blue  Grass, "  it  was  gone.  Without 
doubt  the  Mexicans  had  annexed  our  flask  ;  but  after  a  careful  search  it 
was  found  under  the  seat,  where  it  had  slipped  during  the  excitement  when 
all  but  myself  jumped  from  the  carriage.  So,  with  a  mental  apology  to  the 
Mexicans,  the  flask  passed  around,  and  all  felt  highly  elated  because  we 
four  had  killed  a  wolf. 

Another  specimen  had  been  added  to  the  collection  ;  and  although  I 
myself  failed  to  find  his  trail,  I  had  discovered  not  a  great  ways  from  the 
hill-top  a  lot  of  broken  pottery,  the  remains  of  a  jar.  It  was  in  a  portion  of 
country  that  seemed  to  be  a  wilderness;  it  looked  so  desolate  that 'you 
could  not  imagine  that  anybody  had  ever  lived  there  ;  yet  here  were  the 
pieces  of  pottery,  proving  conclusively  that  the  Pueblos  had  had  a  habita- 
tion not  far  away. 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


95 


Highly  pleased  with  our  success,  we  go  on.  The  country  is  growing 
wilder  as  we  advance  ;  on  our  right  the  hills  and  mountains,  with  their 
sandstone  cliffs,  grow  higher  and  higher,  while  on  our  left  the  plain  is  fur- 
rowed by  deep  canons  cut  into  the  thick  soil  of  the  valley. 

By  and  by  we  reach  a  Mexican  settlement.     The  valley  had  descended 
gradually,  and  a  new  irrigating  canal  could  take  water  from  the  river-bed. 
Numerous  curs  receive  us  with    their 
snarls,   and   sefloritas  look  out  of    the 
doors  at  the  strangers. 

Fields  and  orchards  take  the  place 
of  the  desert  plain  in  the  valley  of  the 
Tesuque.  The  excitement  of  the  wolf 
hunt  had  distracted  our  attention  from 
the  scenery.  We  are  nearing  the 
mountain  chain  that  we  saw,  enveloped 
in  a  blue  mist,  from  the  divide.  The 
butte,  rising  a  thousand  feet  above 
the  plain,  is  on  our  right  hand,  but  the 
blue  mountains  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Rio  Grande  are  in  front  and  seem 
to  close  in  the  Tesuque  valley.  The 
patches  of  snow  on  the  mountain  sides 
look  out  of  place  in  the  warm  sunshine, 
and  it  is  difficult  to  destroy  the  illusion 
which  the  rocky  cliffs  produce — that 
they  are  the  ruins  of  dwellings  built  by 
a  race  of  giants  ages  ago. 

The  Indian  village  of  San  Ildefonso 
is  located  in  the  fork  of  the  Tesuque 
and  Rio  Grande  rivers.  The  pueblo  is 
almost  hidden  by  the  green  trees  that 
line  the  irrigating  canal.  Herds  of 
cattle  and  goats,  tended  by  Indian  boys, 
are  scattered  over  the  plain,  and  in  the  fields  we  see  men  busily  engaged  in 
irrigating  the  land  and  carefully  guiding  the  water  over  the  surface.  The 
laborers  are  at  work  in  rather  scant  dress,  or  undress :  a  flannel  shirt,  a 
ribbon  tied  around  the  head — that  is  all ! 

We  enter  the  village  from  the  east  and  find  ourselves  in  an  oblong  plaza, 
with  rows  of  one  and  two  storied  adobes  on  three  sides,  and  a  church,  with 
a  wooden  cross  in  front,  occupying  a  fourth  side.  The  same  style  of  ladders, 
the  same  ovens,  and  the  same  people  we  had  seen  in  Tesuque  meet  us  here. 


96  LETTERS   FEOM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

We  stop  in  front  of  the  house  of  our  friend  Sanchez,  and  are  received 
with  smiles  by  his  wife,  he  being  away  looking  after  his  fields.  His  is  a 
one-storied  house,  with  a  gallery  or  veranda  running  the  whole  length  of  the 
building.  It  is  raised  one  step  above  the  ground,  and  the  roof  is  supported 
by  rough  columns  of  cottonwood.  Bright,  clean  windows  light  the  interior, 
and  here,  as  in  Tesuque,  the  doorsill  is  raised  six  or  eight  inches  above  the 
floor — as  I  have  seen  it  in  the  houses  of  the  wood-cutters  in  the  forests  of 
Bohemia.  The  room  we  enter  is  evidently  the  sleeping  apartment.  The 
pelts  and  blankets  which  serve  as  beds  are  rolled  up,  and  make  a  settee  run- 
ning the  whole  length  of  one  side  of  the  room  ;  and  on  a  blanket  spread  out 
in  front  of  this  impromptu  settee  sleeps  the  little  pappoose  we  have  seen  in 
Santa  F6. 

An  adjoining  room,  furnished  with  a  table,  some  chairs,  and  a  bedstead, 
was  put  at  our  service.  The  boys  soon  had  all  our  baggage  and  provisions 
in  proper  shape,  and  then  the  important  piece  of  work,  the  skinning  of  the 
wolf,  is  next  in  order.  With  the  assistance  of  a  young  Indian,  while 
dozens  of  youngsters  looked  on,  the  job  was  quickly  under  way. 

The  horses  have  been  unhitched  and  taken  to  the  stable,  the  carriage 
unloaded,  and  the  harness  hung  upon  pegs  built  into  the  adobe  walls,  and 
we  are  ready  to  take  a  walk  about  the  place  while  our  hostess  is  busy 
cooking  the  dinner.  A  few  cottonwood  trees  planted  here  and  there  are 
the  only  signs  of  vegetable  life  in  the  square.  Close  by  is  a  shed  under 
which  an  old  Indian  is  engaged  in  fitting  a  helve  into  an  axe.  Every  once 
in  a  while  he  swings  the  axe  and  makes  a  cut  into  the  log  on  which  he  has 
been  sitting,  and  then  goes  at  the  handle  again,  cutting  off  some  more,  or 
smoothing  it  to  make  it  easy  to  his  hand. 

We  take  a  walk  over  to  the  church  at  the  other  end  of  the  square.  It 
is  like  all  the  others  we  have  seen.  The  front  wall  is  carried  up  like  the 
gable  to  a  house  with  a  pitched  roof,  and  in  two  openings  in  this  wall 
the  bells  are  suspended,  while  a  wooden  cross  surmounts  the  highest  peak. 
The  church  is  closed,  and  as  we  stroll  on  we  reach  the  ruins  of  a  structure, 
no  doubt  a  church  much  older  than  the  one  in  use  at  present.  The  roof 
has  disappeared,  but  the  enclosing  wall  remains,  and  the  carved  girders, 
together  with  the  carved  wooden  columns  that  support  them,  are  well  pre- 
served. The  ornamental  carving  upon  these  is  of  the  same  style  I  had  seen 
in  the  cathedral  at  Juarez,  and  was,  no  doubt,  the  work  of  some  pious  monk 
who  had  helped  to  convert  the  heathen  Indian  to  Christianity. 

Between  this  interesting  ruin  and  the  Eio  Grande  are  some  fields.  It 
is  planting  time,  and  the  male  population  is  busy  ploughing  or  irrigating  the 
land.  The  Rio  Grande,  a  real  stream  here  with  water  in  it,  flows  peacefully 
along,  its  shores  lined  with  woods  or  meadows  dotted  with  grazing  cattle, 


LETTERS   FROM    THE   SOUTHWEST. 


97 


as  fnr  as  the  eye  can  reach.  To  the  left,  extending  from  the  river  bank  to 
the  foot  of  the  sand  hills — a  distance  of  a  mile  or  so — we  see  cultivated 
fields  and  green  trees,  with  adobe  houses  resting  in  their  shade. 


To  investigate  the  fields 
surrounding  the  village  we 
take  a  walk  outside  of  the 
pueblo  proper.  A  street 
extends  from  the  village 
houses,  and  here,  unexpect- 
edly, we  come  upon  the 
council  chamber. 

The  council  chamber  was 
in  olden  time  the  centre  of 
the  religious  and  social  life 
of  the  pueblo.  The  old  men 
of  the  tribe  met  there  to 
consult  together  upon  mat- 
ters of  government,  and  the 
medicine  men  and  priests 
performed  their  services  to 
the  Great  Spirit  within  its 
walls.  But  the  council 
chamber  even  to-day  has 

lost  little  if  any  of  the  importance  it  had  before  the  church  at  the  other 
end  of  the  square  was  erected  and  the  cross  raised  upon  its  belfry. 

It  is  a  circular  adobe  building,  partly  underground,  and  can  be  entered 
only  from  above.     Adobe  stairs  lead  up  to  the  flat  roof,  which  is  surrounded 
7 


s*  - 


98  LETTERS    FROM    THE    SOUTHWEST. 

by  a  wall  two  or  three  feet  in  thickness  and  as  many  feet  high.  Two 
poles  project  above  a  square  opening  in  the  roof.  We  descend  the  ladder, 
and  find  ourselves  in  a  room  lighted  only  by  the  opening  through  which  we 
have  entered.  It  takes  some  time  before  our  eyes  beco'me  accustomed  to 
the  darkness  and  we  are  able  to  see  the  interior.  We  can  make  out  the 
rough  column  in  the  centre  which  supports  the  roof,  and  the  heavy  round 
log,  acting  as  a  girder,  extending  from  side  to  side,  and  embedded,  like  the 
rafters,  in  the  thick  walls.  Then  we  see  a  square  fire-place,  and  the  only 
furniture  of  the  room,  a  seat  which  is  merely  a  projection  of  the  wall  about 
two  feet  in  height.  The  chamber  is  at  least  forty  feet  in  diameter.  There 
are  two  round  holes  in  the  wall,  opposite  each  other,  one  near  the  ground, 
the  other  near  the  ceiling  ;  but  though  they  may  ventilate  they  do  not  help 
to  lighten  the  gloomy  room. 

It  is  a  remarkable  structure,  unlike  anything  I  have  ever  seen  or  heard 
of,  and  there  is  no  doubt  that  it  was  used  by  Pueblo  Indians  long  before  the 
white  man  put  foot  on  their  soil. 

As  we  leave  the  council  chamber,  an  old  man  by  signs  invites  us  to  enter 
his  house.  Two  squaws  are  at  work  making  pottery — large  vessels  that 
would  hold  more  than  a  gallon.  One  of  them  is  smoothing  and  polishing 
a  son-dried  jar,  while  the  other,  squatted  on  the  ground,  is  shaping  another 
on  a  stone  in  front  of  her.  No  wheel  or  tools  are  used.  The  soft  clay  is 
built  up,  and  then  with  one  hand  inside  and  the  other  outside  she  deftly 
forms  a  circular  vessel,  so  regular  in  shape  that  a  superficial  observer  would 
think  it  had  been  made  on  a  potter's  revolving  table. 

We  add  a  few  samples  to  our  collection  of  Indian  pottery,  and  return 
across  the  square  to  the  house  of  Sanchez,  where  we  find  the  skinning  of 
the.  wolf  completed,  and  dinner  ready. 

In  a  corner  of  the  guest  chamber  is  a  fire-place  in  which  our  hostess  has 
built  a  wood  fire,  cooked  a  beefsteak  in  a  pan  supported  by  a  tripod,  and 
brewed  coffee  in  a  tin  pot.  These,  with  canned  vegetables  and  other  good 
things,  made  a  feast  fit  for  the  gods.  We  had  left  Santa  Fe  early  in  the 
morning,  and  it  was  late  in  the  afternoon  before  we  reached  San  Ildefonso. 

While  we  were  taking  our  walk  and  refreshing  the  inner  man  we  had  a 
whole  drove  of  youngsters  around  us.  The  white  man  here  is  evidently  as 
interesting  to  them  as  they  were  to  us,  and  they  were  made  exceedingly 
happy  when  Deming  distributed  a  bag  full  of  apples  among  them. 

While  eating  our  lunch  I  accidentally  looked  out  of  the  window,  and  saw 
that  another  crowd  of  youngsters,  older  than  those  in  the  house,  were  mak- 
ing faces  at  the  back  of  our  carriage.  No  doubt  one  of  them  had  discovered 
that  the  smooth,  well-varnished  carriage  reflected  their  faces,  and  the  whole 
troop  had  no  end  of  fun.  It  is  surprising,  however,  how  these  youngsters 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


99 


carry  others  on  their  backs.  At  least  one-third  of  those  who  were  laughing 
and  scampering  around  the  carriage  had  pappooses  tied  on  their  shoulders. 
But  it  did  not  seem  to  interfere  in  the  least  with  their  movements,  and  the 
puppooses  never  squealed,  even  when  tossed  up  by  their  carriers  to  get  them 
a  little  higher  upon  their  backs. 

Shortly  after  dinner  Sanchez  came  in  and  took  us  in  hand  to  show  us 
all  there  was  to  be  seen.  We  took  another  walk  about  the  place,  but  could 

not  get  into  the  church.  The  priest  was  away, 
as  he  did  not  come  to  the  pueblo  but  once  or 
twice  a  month.  "  Is  he  one  of  your  own  people, 
or  a  Mexican  ?"  I  asked.  "Neither,"  said  San- 
chez; "he  is  some  Frenchman  or  Irishman,  I 
don't  know."  Yet  Sanchez's  house  was  deco- 
ra t ft  1  with  religious  pictures  like  the  rest. 

He  also  informed  us  that  the  next  day  they 
were  to  have  a  dance,  and  if  we  stayed  over  we 
might  witness  it.  Now,  here  was  a  predicament; 
i  lie  young  fellows,  of  course,  wanted  to  stay,  and 
after  taking  another  look  at  the  nice  clean  room, 
the  old  folks  concluded  to  do  the  same.  When 
we  left  home  we  did  not  know  but  that  we  might 
stay  over  night  at  the  pueblo,  and  we  had  brought 
blankets  enough  to  camp  out  with  ;  but  it  proved 
an  unnecessary  precaution,  as  our  hostess  was  well 
provided  with  Navajo  blankets,  and  ray  partner 
and  1  being  old  soldiers,  we  preferred  a  bed  upon 
the  clay  floor  to  the  bedstead,  which  seemed  not 
strong  enough  to  support  the  weight  of  two  such 
heavy  men. 

But  there  was  a  surprise  in  store 
for  us.     When  the  sun  went  down 
the  Indians  came  in  from  the  fields, 
and  preparations  were  made  to  prac- 
tise the  dance  that  evening  in  the  "  council  house,"  and  we  were  invited  to 
be  present.    Sanchez  and  his  wife  were  to  participate,  one  as  a  chanter,  the 
other  as  a  dancer. 

Shortly  after  dark  we  started  for  the  council  house.  A  thick  cloud  of 
smoke  was  coming  out  of  the  hole  in  the  roof  through  which  we  were  to 
enter.  Right  under  this  hole  was  a  wood  fire  which  furnished  the  only 
light  there  was,  and  it  seemed  like  entering  the  lower  regions  as  we  de- 
scended the  ladder  with  uncertain  steps  amid  a  heavy  cloud  of  dense  smoke. 


: 


100 


LETTERS   FKOM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


The  smoky  atmosphere,  the  sound  of  the  drum  accompanied  by  the 
monotonous  chant  of  the  singers,  the  two  rows  of  dancers  revealed  by  the 
flickering  light  of  the  fire,  made  up  a  scene  as  uncanny  as  the  dance 
Tarn  o'  Shanter  saw  in  Alloway  Kirk  when  his  Satanic  Majesty  led  .the 
orchestra. 

As  our  eyes  get  used  to  the  light,  we  see  a  little  more  clearly  the  rows  of 
dancers,  facing  each  other  and  keeping  time  with  their  feet  to  the  beat  of 
the  drum.  A  man  and  a  woman,  a  man  and  a  woman,  eight  or  ten  on  a 
side,  each  carrying  green  branches  in  their  hands,  and  swaying  to  the  right 
and  the  left  as  the  two  lines  at  times  slowly  approach  and  then  recede  from 


each  other.  At  other  times  the  two  lines  pass  each  other  in  the  middle, 
changing  sides  like  the  dancers  in  a  set  of  the  Virginia  reel. 

On  the  seat  running  around  the  chamber  is  seated  the  audience  of  men, 
women,  and  children,  but  the  darkness  at  that  distance  from  the  fire  is  so 
deep  that  we  sec  only  the  merest  outlines,  and  but  little  more  of  the  dancers. 
The  sight  was  more  weird  than  the  liveliest  imagination  could  ever  produce. 

We  left  before  the  dance  was  concluded.  The  smoky  hall,  after  our 
long  ride,  reminded  us  that  we  needed  rest,  and  we  soon  retired,  fully  con- 
vinced that  the  sight  we  had  just  seen  had  been  viewed  by  few  other  visitors 
to  an  Indian  pueblo. 

After  a  good  night's  sleep,  we  awoke  in  the  morning  and  took  a  walk  to 


LETTERS   FROM  THE   SOUTHWEST.  101 

see  the  surrounding  scenery.  From  our  host  we  learned  that  there  is  a 
tradition  that  long  ago  his  people  had  their  village  on  the  bntte  we  had  seen 
from  the  divide,  but  it  was  such  a  long  time  ago  that  even  the  trail  leading 
up  to  it  had  disappeared. 

In  this  clear  atmosphere  the  mountains  on  the  other  side  of  the  river 
seem  to  be  within  a  stone's  throw,  yet  they  are  miles  away.  The  ragged 
sides  cut  up  by  deep  valleys,  the  tops  crowned  with  bold  rocks,  some  over- 
hanging the  vertical  walls;  the  patches  of  snow,  interspersed  here  and  there 
l>\  -eanty  growths  of  pines,  with  the  bright  morning  sun  illuminating 
every  projecting  point  ;  the  peaceful  Indian  village  with  its  adjacent  fields 
and  gardens,  the  river  flowing  at  our  feet — all  combined  to  make  a  picture 
grand  and  impressive  to  the  beholder. 

Our  Indian  friend  next  took  us  to  the  irrigating  ditch  and  explained 
their  system  of  watering  the  fields,  and  how  the  "governor"  and  the  old 
men  regulated  the  affairs  of  the  pueblo.  "  How  much  land  have  you  in 
your  reservation  ?  "  I  asked.  "  We  have  land  on  this  side  and  on  the 
other."  said  he,  "and  since  the  government  is  in  the  East  they  cannot 
take  it  away  from  us  any  more." 

It  seems  that  while  Mexico  controlled  the  country  the  right  of  the 
Indian  to  the  soil  was  never  recognized,  and  their  lands  were  taken  from 
them  by  the  Spanish  and  Mexican  settlers  without  much  ceremony;  and 
there  is  evidently  not  much  love  lost  between  the  two  races  to-day,  although 
they  live  next  door  to  each  other. 

Deining  is  in  full  sympathy  with  the  Indians.  He  feels  very  sore  yet 
about  the  loss  of  one  of  his  horses,  which  was  stolen,  on  his  last  trip  to  the 
Apache  and  Navajo  reservation,  from  his  camp  near  a  Mexican  settlement. 

Our  guide  had  left  us  some  time  before  to  join  the  party  who  were  to 
participate  in  the  dance,  when  the  slow  beating  of  a  drum  reminded  us  that 
it  was  time  to  return  to  the  plaza. 

Near  one  of  the  trees  we  found  a  group  of  men,  our  host  among  them, 
chanting  in  a  monotone  in  time  with  the  beats  of  the  drummer.  They 
stood  facing  each  other  and  forming  a  circle,  while  the  drummer,  outside 
of  the  ring,  faced  a  group  of  men  and  women  who  were  dancing. 

The  sight  we  had  seen  the  evening  before  had  prepared  us  for  the 
present  one.  We  viewed  it  then,  as  it  were,  in  a  cloud,  while  now  the 
sunshine  brought  out  light  and  shadows  to  the  astonished  lookers-on. 

The  green  branches  and  wreaths  furnished  the  predominating  color, 
and  the  dresses  of  the  squaws,  the  painted  skins  of  the  men,  the  rhythmical 
motion  in  time  with  the  chant,  and  the  drum  completed  the  scene. 

The  dancers,  about  twenty  in  number,  half  of  them  squaws  and  the 
other  half  men,  danced  as  they  had  in  the  council  room,  in  two  rows  facing 


102 


LETTEKS   FROM   THE    SOUTHWEST. 


each  other ;  and  I  must  not  forget  two  youngsters,  a  boy  and  a  girl,  ten  or 
twelve  years  of  age  each,  who  evidently  were  receiving  their  first  instruc- 
tions in  the  ceremony. 

The  chanters  and  the  drummer  wore  their  every-day  dress — leather  leg- 
gings and  flannel  or  cotton  shirts  ;  their  long 
hair  was  tied  tightly  around  the  head  with 
a  red  ribbon  or  red  handkerchief  ;  but  the 
dancers  were  in  dance  costume. 

Let  me  try  to  give  you  a  description,  and, 
as  our  hostess  is  one  of  the  performers,  let  me 
describe  her  costume.  She,  like  all  the  other 
squaws,  was  barefooted.  A  long  dark  dress, 
or  rather  bag,  reaching  a  little  below  the  knee 
and  drawn  over  the  right  shoulder,  the  left 
being  bare,  is  fastened  by  a  broad  red  sash 
around  the  waist.  The  sash  is  tied  in  a  knot 
on  the  right  side,  and  its  long  tassels  reach 
almost  to  the  ground.  It 
is  a  fine  specimen  of  weav- 
ing, diagonal  figures  of 
lighter  color  running 
through  the  centre.  She 
also  wears  a  number  of 
necklaces,  and  from  one 
depends  a  silver  cross.  To 
describe  her  head-dress, 
however,  is  not  an  easy 
matter.  It  is  a  thin  board 
fitted  to  the  head  from  ear 
to  ear,  and  projects  upward 
in  three  points  a  foot  or 
more  above  the  head.  It 
is  decorated  with  feathers 
and  fastened  by  strings 
under  the  chin.  In  her 
right  hand  she  holds  a 
bunch  of  green  twigs,  and 
in  her  left  a  string  with  little  tin  rattles  that  jingle  at  every  movement. 
All  the  squaws  wear  the  same  head-dress,  and  their  gowns  differ  but  little. 
Some  are  more,  others  less,  ornamented  on  their  upper  or  lower  edges. 
The  belts  or  sashes  differ  in  shade  and  color,  but  the  same  description  will 


LETTERS    FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 


103 


do  for  all.  The  men  wear  moccasons  adorned  with  skunk-skin  trimmings, 
and  a  cotton  skirt,  held  by  a  broad  sash  of  unbleached  cotton  about  the 
waist,  and  reaching  down  to  the  knee.  The  broad  sash,  like  that  of  the 
women,  is  tied  on  the  right  side,  and  the  long  tassels  almost  touch  the 


ground.  But  the  sash  also  holds  a  fox  skin,  which  hangs  down  behind, 
the  fox's  tail  and  hind  legs  swinging  and  swaying  with  each  motion  of 
the  wearer.  The  chest  and  arms  are  bare,  but  numerous  white  spots  form 
lines  from  the  waist  to  the  shoulders  and  down  the  chest.  Other  dots 
extend  from  the  shoulders  to  the  hands.  Bunches  of  green  cottonwood 


104  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

twigs  are  fastened  by  leather  armlets  to  the  upper  arm,  and  another  bunch 
to  the  top  of  the  head.  In  the  right  hand  they  carry  rattles  made  from  a 
gourd,  and  in  the  left  green  branches. 

The  dance  is  the  spring  or  planting  dance,  and,  no  doubt,  dates  back  to 
a  time  when  it  was  performed  to  propitiate  the  Great  Spirit  and  to  induce 
him  to  give  fair  weather  to  plant  the  crops.  It  was  an  acted  prayer.  And 
the  Indian  squaw  of  to-day,  with  a  rosary  around  her  neck  and  a  cross  on 
her  breast,  still  worships  her  old  gods. 

To  portray  the  motions  of  this  group  is,  however,  beyond  my  power. 
The  feet  are  lifted  alternately  from  the  ground  ;  the  branches  are  in 
motion  ;  the  bodies  sway  forward  and  backward  in  unison  with  the  weird 
chant  and  the  beat  of  the  drum.  Slowly  the  procession  moves  along ;  the 
chanters  have  formed  in  two  lines,  with  the  drummer  ahead,  following 
the  dancers,  who  have  closed  up  and  formed  in  couples,  two  bucks  and 
two  squaws  alternately.  The  first  part  of  the  ceremony  is  over,  and  the 
actors  in  it  retire,  climbing  a  ladder  to  the  upper  story  of  one  of  the  houses 
on  the  other  side  of  the  square. 

It  is  nearly  noon  and  time  to  get  under  way  if  we  want  to  reach  Santa 
Fe  by  daylight.  Our  horses  are  hitched ;  we  say  good-by  and  leave  the 
pueblo,  this  time  fully  convinced  that  what  we  had  seen  bad  not  been  a 
theatrical  performance. 

I  must  relate  yet  another  incident  of  the  day  before.  After  we  had 
made  up  our  minds  to  stay  over  night  we  went  hunting  for  Indian  curiosi- 
ties. We  found  some  blankets,  leggings,  squaw  dresses,  and  other  wearing 
apparel  of  Indian  manufacture.  One  of  the  squaws  brought  out  a  cradle 
of  very  ancient  date,  as  proved  by  the  wear  of  the  rawhide  straps  by  which 
it  had  been  suspended  from  the  ceiling.  After  the  purchase  was  made 
Carl  pointed  to  the  pappoose  in  her  arms  and  asked,  "  Quanta  par  este?" 
(How  much  for  it  ?)  The  squaw  looked  at  him  in  astonishment  and 
hugged  the  baby  tightly  in  her  arms,  but  when  her  first  surprise  was  over 
she  started  into  a  loud  laugh,  in  which  the  people,  young  and  old,  joined 
heartily  when  she  told  them  that  Carl  wanted  to  buy  the  pappoose  to  put  in 
the  cradle. 

There  is  evidently  a  good  streak  of  humor  in  that  pueblo,  and  I  can 
imagine  how  they  must  have  laughed  in  their  sleeves  when  they  had  sold 
their  old  trumpery  to  the  white  men  for  more  than  it  was  worth. 

On  our  way  back  the  young  men  had  plenty  of  sport  shooting  wild 
doves  and  quail,  and  this  delayed  us  so  that  the  sun  was  sinking  in  the 
west  as  we  neared  Tesuque. 

We  had  seen  the  Santa  Fe  range  in  the  morning  with  the  sun  in  the  east. 
When  the  sun  now  neared  the  horizon,  the  snow  on  old  "  Baldy  "  and  on  the 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  105 

caps  of  the  other  mountains  began  to  glow  and  assumed  a  light  red  hue, 
which  gradually  changed  to  a  deep  purple  as  the  sun  went  down,  leaving 
the  high  tops  in  the  starlit  night  looking  like  tall  black  walls  enclosing  the 
valley. 

We  reached  Santa  Fe  an  hour  after  sun-down,  and  had  to  trust  to  our 
ponies  to  carry  us  safely  by  the  deep  cafions  up  to  the  divide  and  down  into 
the  valley  again. 

XXXIV. 

SANTA  FE,  N.  M.,  May  25,  1893. 

WE  are  again  on  the  road,  and  our  objective  point  is  San  Domingo,  the 
largest  pueblo  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of  Santa  Fe.  Our  trip  is 
southward  over  the  prairie.  While  passing  the  Indian  school  we  see  the 
boys  at  play,  and  one  youngster  with  bow  and  arrow  hunting  prairie-dogs. 
The  latter  are  very  numerous  about  here.  I  saw  them  to-day  for  the  first 
time  in  their  natural  state,  popping  up  from  their  burrows,  sitting  bolt 
upright  and  looking  at  the  passers-by,  then  disappearing  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye  into  the  ground,  to  reappear  a  second  later,  the  head  only  protruding 
from  the  hole,  watching  and  waiting  till  the  coast  is  clear.  Hundreds  of 
their  hills  are  scattered  over  the  plain,  some  close  by  the  road,  others 
partly  hidden  behind  the  sage  brush;  and  we  see  the  little  animals  running 
and  scampering  about  everywhere.  As  it  is  early  morning,  they  are  out  for 
their  breakfast.  But  right  there  on  the  top  of  a  fence  is  a  large  hawk  who 
is  out  also  for  something  to  eat.  He  is  intently  watching  the  rodents,  when 
a  well-aimed  shot  brings  him  to  the  ground — another  specimen  of  New 
Mexican  birds. 

The  ride  over  the  prairie  is  a  monotonous  one,  varied  only  by  the  sight 
now  and  then  of  a  cotton-tail  rabbit  or  a  pair  of  wild  doves,  which  furnish 
sport  for  the  two  hunters  on  the  front  seat  of  the  carriage.  The  level  plain 
gradually  changes  into  a  rolling  surface.  In  the  depressions  green  grass 
is  seen  occasionally,  and  as  we  near  the  foot-hills  of  the  Cerillos  Mountains 
we  find  flocks  of  sheep,  numbering  many  hundreds,  feeding  on  the  scant 
herbage. 

The  Cerillos  are  famous  for  their  mineral  wealth,  and  we  see  the  miner's 
footprints  on  every  side.  On  the  level  surface  and  on  the  sides  of  the  pine- 
covered  hills  are  shafts  and  tunnels,  dug  by  prospectors  in  search  of  gold  and 
silver. 

We  pass  some  of  the  abandoned  mines.  The  wooden  houses  and  derricks 
stand  just  as  the  promoters  left  them  when,  after  a  thorough  investigation, 
the  ore  was  found  to  be  unprofitable. 


106  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

We  enter  the  mountain  range  through  a  narrow  pass,  and  find  ourselves 
at  once  in  a  wilderness  of  perpendicular  rocks  and  deep  arroyos.  The  road 
at  times  is  barely  wide  enough  for  us  to  pass  around  some  projecting  rock 
on  one  side  while  a  deep  canon  is  on  the  other.  In  about  the  centre  of 
the  range  we  reach  Bonanza,  an  abandoned  mining  town,  which  but  a  few 
months  ago  was  full  of  life  and  business.  But  the  stamps,  mills,  and 
smelters  are  closed,  boards  are  nailed  over  the  windows,  and  we  see  but  one 
living  inhabitant. 

He  is  seated  on  the  window-sill  of  a  little  frame  building  with  the  sign 
"Post-office"  over  the  door.  Evidently  all  the  others  had  left  in  despair, 
but  the  postmaster  had  remained  to  draw  his  salary,  which,  no  doubt,  is  an 
extravagant  one  and  worth  holding  on  to.  It  is  a  depressing  sight  to  see 
an  abandoned  town — the  houses  and  buildings  showing  no  signs  of  life,  no 
smoke  arising  from  the  chimneys,  and  the  whole  place  looking  like  a  burying 
ground  with  its  monuments  to  the  departed. 

From  Bonanza  the  road  gradually  descends  to  the  valley  of  the  Calisteo 
Eiver.  As  we  approach  it,  the  canon  we  are  travelling  in  grows  deeper,  and 
the  rugged  sides  close  in,  so  that  where  the  road  leads  out  of  it,  the  almost 
vertical  walls  rise  hundreds  of  feet  above  our  heads.  Our  road  in  the  canon 
is  the  bed  of  a  mountain  stream  which  discharges  its  waters  into  the  river, 
and  we  soon  find  ourselves  in  a  cut  from  ten  to  fifteen  feet  deep  and  a  hun- 
dred wide — the  dry  river  bed  of  the  Calisteo. 

Our  ponies  climb  the  opposite  bank,  and  we  come  out  on  the  level 
surface  of  a  wide  valley,  and  see  right  in  front  of  us  the  town  of  Cerillo,  a 
station  on  the  Atchison,  Topeka  and  Santa  Fe  Railroad. 

We  had  made  a  trip  over  hill  and  dale  of  more  than  twenty  miles,  and 
the  sight  of  a  sign — '•'  Anheuser-Busch  " — on  one  of  the  houses  was  like 
seeing  an  oasis  in  a  desert.  But  imagine  our  surprise  when,  on  entering 
the  establishment,  we  found  a  fully  equipped  lunch  counter  in  the  rear,  and 
the  feeling  of  relief  we  experienced  when  a  well-done  plate  of  ham  and 
eggs,  garnished  with  a  schooner  of  lager,  was  set  out  to  refresh  the  inner 
man. 

Our  equipment  attracted  a  good  deal  of  attention.  We  had  a  regular 
battery  of  guns  and  rifles  and  a  full  supply  of  blankets,  and  one  old  man, 
evidently  a  miner,  after  looking  it  all  over  said,  as  he  turned  away:  "I 
suppose  you  fellows  thought  you  were  to  go  on  a  bear  hunt  when  you  came 
over  here." 

The  best  road  to  San  Domingo  is  by  the  river  bed,  and  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  from  Cerillo  we  entered  it.  The  bed  of  the  Calisteo  is  of  the  same 
character,  but  much  larger,  and  the  grotesquely  carved  clay  banks  much 
higher  than  the  bed  of  the  Tesuqne. 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  107 

For  miles  and  miles  we  drove  on.  At  times  a  small  stream  of  water  is 
trickling  in  circuitous  line  over  the  river  bottom,  covered  with  a  thick  layer 
of  alkali,  white  as  snow. 

Once  in  a  while  we  would  find  a  trail  down  the  steep  bank,  where  cattle 
and  horses  made  their  way  from  the  level  above  to  the  ditches  filled  with 
soapy  water ;  but  before  long  all  traces  of  water  disappeared,  and  the  bed, 
now  several  hundred  feet  wide,  twisting  and  turning  to  the  right  and  to 
the  left,  is  covered  with  a  fine  loose  sand,  piled  up  here  and  there, 
and  blown  by  every  gust  of  wind,  forming  ridges  like  the  waves  of  a 
frozen  sea. 

The  river  bed,  a  canon  cut  in  the  clay,  is  as  level  as  a  table.  In  places 
we  ride  on  hard  clay,  while  in  others  our  wheels  sink  deep  into  drift  sand. 
The  mountains  on  our  right,  hundreds  of  feet  high,  are  formed  of  stratified 
sandstone  of  varying  color,  from  deep  red  to  yellow  tints,  the  different 
strata  running  in  parallel  lines  on  the  face  of  the  rocks. 

The  vertical  sides  of  the  mountains,  cut  up  by  arroyos,  project  in  places 
like  round  towers  close  to  the  river  bed.  More  sloping  sides  adjoin  the  pro- 
jecting buttes. 

On  a  point  where  the  cafion  is  about  one  hundred  feet  wide  it  is  spanned 
by  a  wooden  bridge.  A  pier  built  of  logs  like  a  log  house,  but  having  two 
of  its  corners  in  the  direction  of  the  river,  supports  the  two  trusses  which 
rest  on  either  bank.  Up  to  ten  or  twelve  feet  above  the  bed,  the  logs  are 
covered  with  grass  and  brush,  an  evidence  that  not  long  ago,  probably  last 
season,  the  barren  waste  we  are  travelling  in  was  a  rushing  mountain  stream 
ten  or  twelve  feet  deep. 

\Ve  leave  the  river  bed  when  within  a  mile  or  two  of  the  pueblo.  A  pool 
of  clear  water,  confined  by  a  dam,  here  furnished  water  for  our  team  ;  and 
as  we  get  out  of  the  canon,  we  see,  right  before  us,  an  Indian  settlement 
much  larger  than  either  Tesuque  or  San  Ildefonso,  but  of  the  same  general 
appearance — one  and  two  storied  houses  on  four  parallel  streets — but  with 
many  more  houses  outside  of  the  pueblo  among  the  fields  and  trees.  Before 
entering  the  village  we  cross  an  irrigating  canal  of  considerable  size,  which 
is  fed  by  the  Rio  Grande,  and  furnishes  water  to  a  large  area  around  and 
beyond  the  village. 

On  the  way  we  met  a  number  of  Indians,  squaws  and  bucks,  who  had 
evidently  been  for  supplies  to  the  next  American  village. 

Following  a  well-beaten  road  we  enter  the  pueblo  from  the  east.  We 
go  down  a  street,  and,  on  turning  to  the  left,  are  in  front  of  the  main  street, 
which  is,  no  doubt,  the  original  pueblo. 

We  hitch  our  horses  to  a  feeding  trough,  and  are  immediately  surrounded 
by  numbers  of  children,  and  are  greeted  by  the  old  people  with  their  "  como 


108  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

la  va,"  as  one  after  another  comes  up  to  shake  hands.  Deming,  who  knew 
some  of  the  Indians,,  inquired  for  Juan  Lavater,  whom  we  soon  found. 

Lavater  speaks  English  well.  He  has  served  the  United  States  survey- 
ors as  interpreter,  and  speaks  in  addition  to  the  Pueblo  language,  Spanish, 
Navajo,  and  Apache.  He  is  well  to  do  ;  owns  a  pair  of  horses  and  a  good 
wagon,  and  is  the  father  of  three  black-haired  youngsters  of  whom  he  is 
exceedingly  proud. 

When  he  came  over  to  the  carriage  with  Ed,  a  tall  squaw  with  a  pappoose 
on  her  back  came  with  him.  I  was  introduced  and  shook  hands  with  both, 
and  when  I  asked  Ed  whether  that  tall  squaw  (she  was  taller  than  Juan) 

ti 


i 


was  his  wife,  he  shouted  with  laughter.     "  Why/'  he  said,  "it  is  his  father- 
in-law,  and  the  pappoose  is  Juan's  youngest  baby." 

There  I  had  discovered  a  new  use  for  fathers-in-law,  and  I  rather 
rejoiced  that  I  was  not  a  Pueblo  Indian,  as  it  did  not  seem  exactly  the 
thing  for  a  gentleman  of  my  age  to  serve  as  a  nurse-girl  for  his  grandchild- 
ren. I  saw  quite  a  number  of  other  old  men  during  our  stay,  who,  like 
Juan's  father-in-law,  carried  the  younger  generation  on  their  backs.  As  we 
were  talking  to  our  friend,  I  took  a  look  up  the  plaza,  and  there,  coming 
out  of  a  council  house  about  half-way  up,  were  a  troop  of  Indians  walking 
in  single  file.  They  marched  to  the  middle  of  the  square,  then  turned  to 
the  right  in  the  centre,  and,  marching  a  short  distance,  halted.  We  were 


LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST.  109 

just  in  time  to  see  another  spring  dance.  "  We  are  in  luck,"  I  halloed 
to  Ed,  who  was  going  with  Juan  to  inspect  the  quarters  he  and  Carl  were  to 
occupy  during  the  night ;  and,  sure  enough,  we  had  arrived  just  in  time  to 
witness  a  performance  similar  to  that  we  had  seen  in  San  Ildefonso.  We 
asked  if  we  could  go  up  to,  and  near,  the  place  where  the  dancers  had 
stopped,  and  were  told  that  we  might. 

The  sight  differed  slightly  from  what  we  had  seen.  Twenty-five  bucks 
in  dancing  costume,  with  three  musicians,  led  by  an  old,  gray-haired 
man  wrapped  in  a  gray  blanket,  had  formed  in  line  in  the  middle  of  the 
square.  The  old  man  carried  another  blanket  on  his  arm.  He  left  the 
head  of  the  company,  and  in  the  centre,  close  to  the  line,  he  spread  it  on 
the  ground.  The  three  musicians  kneeled  upon  it ;  each  had  a  large  gourd 
open  at  the  bottom,  and  with  a  smaller  hole  on  top,  which  he  laid  on  the 
ground.  Each  had  in  his  left  hand  a  notched  stick,  and  in  his  right 
another  one,  which,  when  drawn  across  the  notched  stick  resting  on  the 
hollow  sphere,  produced  a  deep  sound  like  the  pronunciation  of  a  string  of 
letter  r's  by  a  Frenchman. 

The  twenty-five  dancers,  all  ornamented  alike,  stood  facing  the  musi- 
cians. Each  dancer  wore  a  breech-clout,  held  by  a  broad  sash  with  long 
tassels  nearly  touching  the  ground,  and  moccasons  ornamented  with  skunk 
skin  ;  a  rattle  was  in  each  right  hand,  and  a  cottonwood  branch  in  the 
left.  The  legs  were  bare,  and  painted  with  white  rings ;  and  wide  stripes 
of  a  white  color,  which  looked  not  unlike  suspenders,  went  up  from  the 
belt,  over  the  shoulders,  and  down  to  the  fox-skin  on  the  back. 

The  armlets  on  the  upper  arms  held  bunches  of  cottonwood,  and  a 
wreath  of  green  leaves  hung  down  to  the  middle  of  the  chest.  In  place 
of  the  head-dresses  of  cottonwood  we  had  seen  before,  were  eagle  feathers 
fastened  to  the  top  of  the  head. 

A  funny  incident  interrupted  this  stage  of  the  ceremony.  A  strong 
breeze  was  blowing  from  the  west ;  and  one  of  the  ornaments,  which  had 
been  imperfectly  secured,  was  blown  from  the  head  of  a  dancer.  The 
leader,  the  old  gray-haired  Indian,  chased  it  down  the  plaza  until  he 
got  the  feathers  from  a  youngster  who  had  intercepted  their  flight. 
Then  he  returned  to  his  position  behind  the  musicians,  and  the  dance 
began. 

The  musicians  draw  their  sticks,  the  dancers  shake  their  rattles.  The 
next  movement,  the  dancers  turn  around  and  begin  to  chant.  All  face  the 
east,  as  if  starting  on  a  march,  and  commence  to  lift  their  feet  in  unison 
with  the  sounds  produced  by  the  notched  sticks.  The  tempo  increases,  and 
the  dancer  on  the  left  slowly  turns  around  until  he  faces  the  west.  As  soon 
as  he  has  completed  this  motion,  the  second  dancer  performs  the  same 


110  LETTERS   FROM   THE   SOUTHWEST. 

movement,  and  so  on  through  the  whole  line,  till  the  last  Indian  has  faced 
about,  and  has  danced  there  some  time. 

When  the  tempo  of  the  music  and  of  the  chant  changes,  the  dancer  on 
the  right  turns  slowly  till  he  faces  the  east  again,  and  one  after  another 
all  the  others  change  their  position.  This  is  repeated  again  and  again, 
the  column  first  looking  to  the  east,  and  then  to  the  west,  while  the 
leader,  who  is  carefully  watching  the  motions,  from  time  to  time  corrects 
some  of  the  performers  who  are  evidently  not  well  enough  drilled  to 
please  him. 

After  about  twenty  minutes  the  tempo  grows  gradually  slower,  and  at 
last  the  chant  and  the  music  cease  altogether.  The  musicians  rise,  the 
leader  picks  up  the  blanket  from  the  ground,  puts  it  over  his  left  arm, 
and  steps  in  front  of  the  column.  They  march  away  in  single  file,  and 
about  one  hundred  yards  further  on  the  same  ceremony  is  repeated. 

"What  is  the  old  man  who  leads  the  band  ?"  I  asked  Juan,  who  stood 
on  my  right.  "  I  don't  know  in  English,"  he  answered ;  but  I  have  no 
doubt,  as  he  is  not  the  governor  of  the  pueblo,  that  he  is  the  chief  medicine 
man  of  the  tribe. 

San  Domingo  has  over  eight  hundred  inhabitants,  and  is  a  much 
wealthier  pueblo  than  either  of  those  we  had  visited  before,  and  content- 
ment and  thrift  appear  to  be  its  principal  characteristics. 

But  the  dancers  and  musicians  make  only  a  small  part  of  the  picture. 
The  whole  population  have  gathered  to  see  the  dance.  Along  the  houses 
in  the  square,  and  up  on  the  roofs,  the  interested  spectators  in  their  pict- 
uresque dress  are  lined.  But  not  a  smile  on  any  face  ;  all  are  as  sober 
as  if  at  a  church  meeting,  and  yet  we  have  seen  them  laugh  as  heartily  as 
white  people,  when  Carl  asked  the  price  of  the  pappoose. 

The  dance  surely  had  not  been  prepared  expressly  for  the  strangers  ; 
it  was  a  relic  of  the  past ;  and,  during  the  whole  performance,  I  did  not 
see  a  single  Indian  who  took  any  notice  of  the  four  white  men  who  watched 
their  motions  with  the  greatest  attention  and  interest.  It  was  a  picture  of 
unusual  brilliancy ;  the  dancers  were  almost  nude,  the  musicians  kneeling 
on  the  ground,  the  spectators  on  the  plaza  and  on  the  roofs,  dressed  in 
many-colored  blankets  and  dresses.  Youngsters  and  old  people,  with 
pappooses  tied  on  their  backs,  recalled  the  description  of  a  scene  in  far-off 
Japan  that  I  had  read  some  time  before,  where  the  young  people  are 
actually  trained  to  carry  their  little  brothers  and  sisters. 

It  was  a  bright  bit  of  color,  far  superior  to  any  I  had  ever  come  across 
in  all  my  travels.  San  Domingo  has  three  council-houses,  exactly  like  the 
one  we  had  seen  in  San  Ildefonso,  and,  as  Juan  told  me,  "  The  old  men  elect 
the  governor,"  who  is  almost  an  autocrat.  "  How  do  you  elect  the  gover- 


LETTERS   FROM    THE   SOUTHWEST.  Ill 

nor?"  I  asked.     "The  old  men,"  said  Juan,  "know  best  who  should  be 
governor,  and  they  select  him." 

The  sun  was  sinking  in  the  west,  and  it  was  time  to  start,  if  we  wanted 
to  return  to  Santa  Fe  that  day.  A  drive  of  three  miles  brought  us  to 
Wallace,  a  station  on  the  A.  T.  &  S.  F.  Railroad,  which,  as  Juan  told  us, 
was  on  the  reservation  of  the  San  Domingo  Indians;  and  there  at  six  o'clock 
we  found  a  freight  train,  which  landed  my  partner  and  myself  in  Lamy 
about  eight,  and,  after  waiting  for  some  time,  the  train  on  the  branch  road 
brought  us  to  Santa  Fe  about  midnight. 

The  young  men  stayed  at  San  Domingo  over  night  as  guests  of  Lavater, 
and  they  witnessed  the  next  day  the  erection  of  a  bridge  across  the  Eio 
Grande,  which,  had  we  known  about  it,  we  would  certainly  not  have  missed, 
had  we  to  stay  a  week  instead  of  a  single  night. 

It  is  no  use  to  cry  over  spilled  milk.  I  have  seen  so  much  that  was  new 
and  strange,  that  one  scene  more  or  less  is  of  little  consequence. 

My  trip  West  has  opened  a  new  world  to  me,  and  it  has  changed  my 
views  of  the  Indian  completely.  Grander  sights  than  I  had  seen  can  cer- 
tainly not  be  found  in  any  part  of  the  globe,  and  a  trip  to  New  Mexico 
furnishes  the  same  pictures  that  are  seen  in  Egypt  and  the  East;  yet,  while 
hundreds  travel  to  Palestine,  few  visit  the  seats  of  the  oldest  civilization  on 
the  western  continent. 

To-morrow  we  start  for  home,  and  I  will  say  good-by  to  Santa  Fe  and 
the  pueblos,  with  the  hope  that  I  may  see  them  again. 

Yours  truly, 

R.    ElCKEMEYEE. 


ff! 


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